


Two Souls

by pinkladyalex



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Soulmates AU, mentions of self harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 56,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23582782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkladyalex/pseuds/pinkladyalex
Summary: Every step of his life had orbited Potter’s.“I guess. I guess it makes some sort of sense, doesn’t it?” Draco offered, shrugging. Potter smiled.“In a crazy way, yeah."aka Draco Malfoy wakes up on his 18th birthday in Azkaban, with no soulmate.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 60
Kudos: 145





	1. Draco

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my fic! This is the first chapter of what will be many (right now I have six done but I think it will be around 10).
> 
> A big big shout out to my friend Kit for betaing this fic, and helping me keep writing it. If it wasn't for her I would never be as far in as I am. Another shout out to my friends Daisy (@harryemostyles) and Tay (@taytay3493) for reading as I wrote and encouraging me!
> 
> follow me on tumblr @impressivelyloud

Draco’s 18th birthday came and went without him even noticing. In Azkaban, he’d lost track of the days, and nothing about the day is any different than any other since he arrived. Cold. Depressing. Lonely. The dementor’s certainly weren’t going to throw him a surprise party. He wouldn’t have remembered at all if they hadn’t reminded him the morning after.

The dementors could see all the way into the deepest and darkest parts of his brain, the fears he had never even acknowledged with the war going on. They taunted him with his guilt, day after day reminding him of the horrific things he’d bore witness to, the things he’d done. 

They would slink past his cell, and images of a frozen Charity Burbage would find their way to the forefront of his mind. He would scream as if he was back at that table. And then with almost no break, a flashback to his punishment following that meeting. 

The pain of the cruciatus curse relived over and over. 

The slicing of his skin, bleeding out on the bathroom floor. 

The look in Potter’s eyes as he refused to identify him. 

The smell of smoke as he clung to Potter, escaping the Room of Requirement, but leaving Crabbe to die. 

The pain of receiving the dark mark. 

But the morning of June 6th, 1998, the day after he turned 18, the dementor’s slid by and none of these horrible images came to mind. Instead, it was a feeling of horrible, aching dread. 

He didn’t have a dream through someone else’s eyes, and therefore, he didn’t have a soulmate. 

Why should he? Why would Draco Malfoy, of all people, be deserving of a soulmate? Of a partner through life, of eternal happiness with someone he was destined to be with? He wasn’t deserving of it, the dementor’s told him. _Remember? Remember the horrible things you’ve done?_ Draco Malfoy would die alone, and it would be wholly justified. 

Of course, this wasn’t true. His soulmate could just be younger than him, and they would share a dream the night of his soulmate’s 18th birthday. But dementor’s didn’t care about logistics. And in Azkaban - cold, alone, and afraid - neither did Draco. 

He was going to die alone, here, shivering on the concrete floor barely staying alive. Nourishment spells only did so much. His mouth was dry for lack of water, and his ribs were visible through his shirt. He counted them each day in an effort to keep sane. If he looked at his ribs he wouldn’t think so much about tearing off his left forearm. 

What he wasn’t taught about the effect of dementors was the thoughts they put in his head of hurting himself. It was no wonder most people died in Azkaban, they probably killed themselves, egged on by the swarming dementors the amplification of any negative thoughts. Draco had considered trying to remove the mark before being locked up, but since then there were days where it was all he would think about. 

He sat that day, staring at it. He wished for any way to perform magic; if it meant he could sever his arm. Leave the ugly thing behind. He would miss his fingers, sure, but he would never miss that mark. He was going to die alone because of it, he was going to wither away on the floor of a derelict cell in a stone prison because of it. 

He realized if he had just turned 18, that meant it had been a month since the Battle of Hogwarts. A month since he was arrested. A month since he had arrived here. As he stared down at his wrist, thinking of plan after plan to remove the damned thing, he jolted as he realized he was already losing touch with reality. He needed a happy thought. He started counting his ribs. He thought of his mother, tried to conjure any positive memory. He came up with a small one, from when he was a boy, of his mother kissing his forehead goodnight. 

Another dementor flew by the window of his cell, replacing the memory with the memory of his mother being torn away from him as they were arrested. Draco screamed in agony, clutching his sides, sobbing. 

A guard stopped at his cell to perform the spells necessary to keep him alive. 

Draco liked to think of that as breakfast. 

The days in Azkaban dragged on, going slower than even his sixth year did. He could barely track day or night, the cloud coverage making what was meant to be the daytime just as dark as the night. Every morning he woke up to the sounds of other prisoners sobbing and screaming in agony. They were soon joined by his own, as the dementors tormented him. Day in and day out. 

The only thing that kept him going slightly was his trial. 

His family’s trial was slated to end August 1st, all of the other proceedings happening in the days leading up to it. He had time allotted to defend himself on the 1st, and then the Wizengamot would deliver his verdict. Despite being tried together to save time, the Ministry had been clear that each of the Malfoys would be judged as individuals. 

He wasn’t expecting a positive outcome. 

Despite this, and despite the feelings of dread that the dementors amplified, he knew he couldn’t give up. He spent the little time he had a clear mind during the day thinking of what he would say during his defense. He ran his fingers up and down his ribcage, counting the bones, trying to keep the dangerous thoughts at bay, and thought of how to sum up his experiences in a sympathetic manner. 

He had never wanted the mark, he would start with. He only took it out of fear for his mother’s life. He never cast a successful cruciatus. He was so _so_ close to surrendering to Dumbledore. He regretted taking the mark every day when he saw it again. He even considered offering his forearm as reparations, but he thought that might come across as far too drastic. 

He didn’t expect the early days of his trial to go well. He wouldn’t be present, and that meant he wouldn’t even know exactly what to refute. So he planned to talk mostly about his remorse. No excuses, just regrets. He would tell the stories of the moments he regretted most, and why, and hope that was enough to save him from a lifetime in Azkaban. 

He ran over his plans, day after day, his fingers running over his chest, and days turned into weeks, until suddenly he had spent two months on the floor of his cell, and his verdict would be given tomorrow. 

~~~~~~

Nights in Azkaban didn’t usually include dreams. If his sleep was deep enough to have imagery, it was typically a nightmare. A full night’s sleep was rare - but Draco managed to get lucky the night before his trial. 

The dream was strange. He woke up in the morning, in a house vaguely familiar to him but he couldn’t place it. He went through the daily motions, but never once looked in a mirror. His eyes avoided them like the plague, head bent over the sink to brush his teeth, and turned away completely as he got dressed. 

His skin was dark. His hands were jarring to look at, so different from the near translucency his skin had reached in prison. 

Draco noticed a scar, in passing, on the back of his left hand. 

_I must not tell lies._

Potter. He was dreaming from Potter’s eyes, just going about his day. Why? What purpose could this dream serve, the day before his fate was revealed? Why would his subconscious want to show him a mundane day in the life of the Saviour?

He ate breakfast. Small, hot oatmeal, but food. He could taste it more than any other dream before. The pumpkin juice seemed to actually soothe his dry throat. 

Then, he left for the ministry. 

Potter went straight for the Wizengamot, sitting beside Granger and the Weasel, behind the head of the court, Kingsley Shacklebolt. 

“The court will now hear witness statements in favor of or against Draco Malfoy,” Shacklebolt announced to the room at large. 

Draco realized that he was watching his own court proceedings. That for some reason, in this horrible dream world, Potter was observing his own trial, and he would have to watch the witness testimonies against him. 

Potter stood up. 

He was wrong, this was no dream. Not just witness testimonies, _Potter’s_ testimony against him. He was going to have to deliver damning evidence against himself through Potter’s eyes, would have to feel as the words of vitriol he felt towards him spewed out, would have to watch on as his chances of ever making it out of Azkaban crumbled in front of him, from his own lips. 

Potter entered the pit in front of the overwhelming presence of the entire Wizengamot. He approached the podium, an automatic _sonorous_ charm projecting his voice to the room. 

“Harry James Potter giving testimony in favor of Draco Malfoy.”

In favor?! Draco couldn’t believe it even as the words escaped his own lips. This wasn’t a nightmare or a dream, it was a tease, a horrible vision of what could be. What he wished was the truth of his situation. It was a hope he hadn’t even dared to entertain. 

“In favor?” Shacklebolt repeated Draco’s own thoughts, and murmurs traveled through the gathering of witches and wizards. 

“Yes.” 

“Very well. You may make your opening statements, and then we will open the testimony to questions from the Wizengamot members.”

Potter braced himself on the podium. He took a deep, ragged breath in. He seemed tired, but pushed through for the sake of the trial. He looked at his hands again, and Draco took in the tense way his forearms bulged, the sleeves of his robes rolled back. He could feel the tension sitting in his lower back, unsure of how he had missed it before. 

“I have chosen today to speak in favor of Draco Malfoy as I was there the day Dumbledore was killed and saw him choose to surrender a moment too late. I also witnessed, through Voldemort, his reluctance to participate in Death Eater activity, and failure to do so at his own expense. He also saved my life in Malfoy Manor, by declining to identify me to Death Eaters there. And, while I know this doesn’t contribute specifically to his personal merit, his wand is the wand that killed Voldemort.” Potter finished, looking directly at the crowd. He made eye contact with Shacklebolt, it felt almost defiant. Draco wanted him to look away. 

“Thank you for your comments. We will now open the floor to questions about this testimony,” Shacklebolt said, slamming a gavel down. Hands all around the court shot in the air. Of course everyone wanted to know why Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was defending the actions of Draco Malfoy, Death Eater. 

Shacklebolt took in the number of hands and clarified, “We will do this in order of ranking, those highest will speak first. Speaking out of turn will have you ejected from this proceeding, as I do not want this court to get out of hand. First, my own question. I only have one. What do you mean he surrendered a moment too late?”

Potter took a deep breath, and Draco tried to think of how Potter could know that. He hadn’t realized he was there on the astronomy tower, Draco thought he was alone. His last moment to change sides was something he thought over often, and he never remembered seeing Potter. This dream was inventing impossible circumstances to show him a totally different life.

“I was on the astronomy tower the night Severus Snape killed Dumbledore. Dumbledore put me under a _petrificus totalus_ and placed my invisibility cloak over me, so I had no way to intervene. Malfoy had him cornered, but hesitated to cast the killing curse.” Potter took a deep breath, and Draco felt the desperation too. He had agonized for weeks over that moment, leading up to it and in the aftermath. He never wanted to kill anyone. Potter continued, “Dumbledore asked him why he was doing this. Malfoy explained Voldemort had threatened to kill his family, and he had no other choice. Dumbledore offered him another choice, to join the Order and gain protection for his family. Malfoy’s wand fell, as the other Death Eaters joined us on the tower. If he had surrendered moments earlier, Dumbledore wouldn’t have died, and Malfoy would have abandoned the cause. He was quite literally seconds from doing the right thing.”

Draco had never heard the story told in such plain language. His wand fell, he was only seeking protection for his family. It was all true, and of course knew it was true, and that was the only explanation for why this was happening. His own subconscious had put these words into Potter’s mouth. No other person would believe this story.

There was a hush over the court, you could hear a pin drop. 

Shacklebolt nodded once. “I’ll pass the questions off to McLaggen.”

The dream continued in kind, members of the court asking Potter questions upon questions about what he witnessed Draco do. There were things that were just impossible for him to know, like his cowardice in front of Voldemort, the way his _cruciatus_ was always too weak, or the countless times he had been on the receiving end of that curse. Draco watched an imaginary trial where the court slowly seemed to actually understand his circumstances. 

When it seemed like every moment of his life had been rehashed, including his younger interactions with Potter, which Potter seemed just as annoyed about as he was. Of course, he was a pompous asshole when he was twelve, he was _twelve_ and didn’t know any world outside his own! 

At the end of the court proceedings, Shacklebolt dismissed Potter and the rest of the court. Potter went back and met with Granger and Weasley, who were waiting for him at the door back into the ministry. 

“You did a good job, Harry,” Granger said, grasping his shoulder. Potter took a deep breath, nodding. 

“I still can’t believe you spoke in his favor. If you just weren’t going to testify at all I might understand but-”

“Ron, you know he’s not evil. He’s wrong about a lot of things, sure. But he was as forced into the war as I was.” Potter defended him again, Weasley shook his head. 

“I mean, sure, but just because you have this weird obsession with him doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve Azkaban.”

“Quite frankly, no one deserves Azkaban. That prison is horrible, and the fact that people go there even while they are awaiting trial is so cruel. Nowhere in the muggle world is it that cruel, I swear.” Granger ranted quickly, Weasley and Potter nodding along as if she had said this all before. 

The dream was confusing Draco now. If it was simply to give him false hope about his trial, a nightmare to look back on as he spent his time in prison, why on earth would he have to sit through Granger lecturing about the prison system?

“Yes, yes, Hermione, we know. You can change it all when you’re Minister for Magic,” Potter teased, nudging her. Granger rolled her eyes at him, smirking. 

“I will never be Minister for Magic. The only thing more corrupt than Wizarding Prison is Wizarding Government.” 

The Golden Trio walked on, talking about their plans for the next day, as their required appearances in court were finally over. When they reached the floo exits, Granger and Weasley each gave Potter a hug. 

“Happy Birthday, Harry. I know we aren’t celebrating until next week but we got you something for today anyway, open it at home.” Weasley said, handing Potter a small wrapped gift. Potter smiled slightly. 

Potter’s birthday. What a strange detail to add to a dream, As if Harry Potter would have to spend his birthday in court, testifying for Draco Malfoy. 

“Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s nothing, really. Just something for your dreams, so if you have a dream...” Granger trailed off, smirking and raising her eyebrows. 

Potter rolled his eyes and pushed the couple away. “If I do, you’ll be the first to know. I’ll see you for brunch at the Burrow on Sunday.” 

They waved a last goodbye, and Granger and Weasley went to one floo while Potter went to a separate one. 

Arriving back at home, Potter sighed and dropped onto his couch, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He took the gift out of his pocket and opened it. 

It was a small box, and upon opening it he saw a small bottle with a cork stopper in it. It was much wider at the bottom, and fit comfortably in his palm. In script, in gold ink, written on the bottle were the words “My Soulmate.” Further investigation into the box saw a small piece of paper. 

_Save your soulmate dream forever, relive the day with your soulmate! Cast the simple incantation -_ sosei somnium - _before you fall asleep, and your dream will instantly be stored in this bottle, to be relived with the convenience of a pensieve._

Potter sighed, placing the bottle on the table in front of him and staring at it. 

The thought crossed Draco’s mind, suddenly, that this could be a soulmate dream. The fact that it was Potter’s birthday, and the strange perspective of the dream. It would make sense, except that it was impossible. If he even has a soulmate, there was no way it would be Potter. Fate couldn’t be so cruel. Draco Malfoy, bonded for life to a man who would hate him forever. 

No. This was just another cruel trick. He had truly lost his mind, the dementors had affected his psyche too much. His subconscious was torturing him in tandem with the actual torture. 

The dream continued as Potter made himself dinner, eating alone in the large house. He opened a bottle of Ogden’s whiskey and poured a steep glass, knocking it back quickly, and then refilled it. 

After eating, Potter moved back to his couch, grabbing a book off of a side table and reading, his glass of whiskey present again, refilling four or five more times. The hours passed quickly, the moon rising in the sky. Potter stood up and stretched, and looked at the small bottle on the table. 

He considered the bottle for a moment, seeming to not know whether or not he wanted to use it. Eventually, he grabbed it, and his glass, and headed up to bed. 

Potter stripped down to his pants, preparing for bed. (Which Draco did not try and take note of. He just...saw it by accident. His chiseled chest, the scar over his heart. His large- no. He didn’t notice that at all.) He finished what was left in his glass, stumbling slightly as he got to his bed. 

He placed the bottle on his bedside and stared at it. He placed his glasses next to it. He grabbed his wand, cast a quick _nox_. 

He took a deep breath, looking back at the bottle, barely visible in the dark. “ _Sosei somnium,_ ” he whispered. The writing on the bottle shimmered, before it went dark again. Potter closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep. 

~~~~~

Draco woke up with a jolt, someone banging on his cell door. 

“Wake up, let’s go!” The guard was yelling, rattling the door frame. “It’s your trial. Get up now.” She gestured for Draco to approach the bars at the front of the cell. He stood up on shaky legs. “Give me your hands.” He put his hands through the bars, and she spelled his wrists together. Then she pushed them back through the bars and unlocked the door. 

She grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the cell roughly. He stumbled along with her, looking up and down the line of cells near him. His mind kept returning to his dream the previous night, the impossibility of Potter defending him. He wondered how his trial had actually gone. Who had attended, who had railed against him and his family.

The guard walked them outside, and Draco took a deep breath of fresh air, the first in forever. It filled his lungs in a new way. He looked at the blue of the sky, feeling relief as they moved into the charmed area where the dementors' effects weren’t felt. His mind cleared, and for the first time in two months, his chest felt weightless. 

He smiled slightly at the guard. She glared back at him. He dropped his eyes to his feet. She wrapped her arm through his, and side alonged them to the guest entrance of the ministry. 

Walking through the atrium, a great feeling of shame filled him. People were staring at him, glancing at his exposed left arm. His mark was on display. He wanted to throw up. He wished he could cross his arms or something, anything to cover it. The stares followed them all the way to the entrance to the Wizengamot. 

The guard pushed him onto a bench outside, and then spelled his cuffs to stick to it. He sat there, running over the plans for his defense in his head. He stared at his feet, trying not to think of the cramp forming from the way his arms were held across his body. 

Somebody sat next to him. He looked up to see his mother, in the same position as him, in the same grey Azkaban uniform. Their eyes met, and Draco immediately felt a longing he didn’t know was there, to be held by his mother, to have her tell him everything was going to be okay.

She smiled sadly at him, “Hello, my dear. Are you ready for today?” Her voice was meek, almost unrecognizable. 

“I’m as prepared as I can be,” his own voice sounded similar, out of use except for crying in Azkaban. It scratched his throat to speak, and he worried suddenly if it would sound good or bad to the court. He had thought so much about what to say but hadn’t considered what his voice would sound like on the day of the trial. 

“That’s good. I’m sure your father will be joining us shortly,” Narcissa commented, her face blank at the mention of Lucius. Draco winced, not wanting to see his father again. He was still unsure about what he felt about his father. He knew that when it came down to it, it was Lucius’ fault that his family was wrapped up in Voldemort’s world, but he still had some love for the man who raised him. His mother sat in silence for a few moments, probably thinking over the same things.

Draco whispered, “What do you think is going to happen?” He looked at Narcissa, who met his eyes and frowned. She was scared too, he could tell. 

“That depends fully on how the rest of our trial went. So, unfortunately, your guess is as good as mine. My greatest hope is that your age will give you a reduced sentence,” She nodded to herself, and Draco gulped. If even his mother thought he would be doing time in Azkaban, then hope truly was meek. 

Despite only being out of the prison for a few hours, Draco was already dreading going back for any period of time. The way his head had cleared, able to think about things rationally without turning towards trauma immediately, was a beloved respite. He felt like a weight was off of his shoulders, and even with his anxiety towards the trial, he felt more relaxed than he had in two months. Maybe longer. Going back couldn’t be an option. He _wouldn’t_ go back. He would rather die than end up there, wallowing away for the rest of his life. Just those two months would require so much healing. 

Suddenly another guard approached, wrestling with his father. “Unhand me! I am perfectly able to walk by myself, I will not be pushed around-excuse me!” He exclaimed as the guard pushed him onto the bench, next to Draco. His hands were attached to the bench, and then Draco noticed his ankles were shackled as well. 

“Draco, Narcissa, can you believe the audacity they have to shove me around? As if I don’t know the proceedings of this court. I served on it for decades,” Lucius huffed, turning to his family for sympathy. 

The warring feelings Draco had disappeared. If he hadn’t thought his father was evil before, now he knew. Despite everything they had been through, despite absolutely destroying his family’s life, Lucius still carried himself as though he had done nothing wrong. He had supported an absolute madman, and _lost_ , and was somehow still in denial about the consequences. 

“I can, actually,” Narcissa spoke up first. Draco whipped his head to look at her, and her face was colder than he’d ever seen it. “I can’t believe you have the audacity to come here and act as if you have any right to be treated better than any other criminal. You made the choices that led us here. You gave up your family for a cause that lost. You gave up our _home_ to a false lord. You deserve much more than being pushed onto a bench, Lucius.”

Draco stared at his mother, jaw slack in shock. She had never so much as disagreed with Lucius in front of him, let alone do... _that_. Draco nodded quickly, turning back to his father. Lucius was as shocked as he was, maybe more so. His mouth hung open like a fish, and he floundered for something to say. Draco schooled his jaw, “She’s right. You were wrong, father. You have to admit that, or you will die in Azkaban. You might die there anyway.”

Lucius glared at him, his shock turning quickly to anger. “How dare you, boy! Speaking out of turn to your father, disrespecting your family, letting bad circumstances get in the way of your loyalty. You are a disgrace-”

“Maybe I am. But so are you. You always raised me to be just like you, father. If I’m a disgrace, what does that make you?” Lucius stared at him, unable to say anything before a guard stepped up to them, eyes wide in some form of shock. 

“I hate to break up this heartfelt family moment,” the guard began. Draco cast his eyes to the floor. A united front was the way Malfoy’s had always been- the picture-perfect pureblood family. So much had changed in such a short period of time. “-but it’s time to begin. If you would all follow me.”

The guard waved his wand, detaching their cuffs from the bench, and then relinking them to an invisible rope extending from his belt. Arms awkwardly in front of them, the Malfoy’s walked into the courtroom. 

Draco was overtaken with a sense of overwhelming deja vu. He had been in the Wizengamot before, but the set up was exactly like his dream from the night before. Kingsley Shacklebolt stared down at the three of them from the center of the benches, and was surrounded by the same faces from the dream. The exact same faces, in the exact same seats. 

The only face that was different was Potter sitting in the top right. 

Draco made quick eye contact with Potter, who looked away quickly. Draco grimaced as he realized he was most likely here to witness the fate of his arch-rival from school, to finally see him get his comeuppance. 

Shacklebolt banged his gavel on his podium, ordering the court to be quiet. At the silence, Draco and his mother and father looked up at the filled court. 

“Now, today we will hear the final witnesses in the cases of Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy. These testimonies will be given by the accused themselves. Following their testimony, the court will decide their punishments.” Shacklebolt explained. “We will begin with Lucius Malfoy. You may approach the podium.” 

Lucius approached the podium. His defense was very thin, claiming he was under the imperius curse again. Draco watched as the court shook their heads, not buying the story. 

Narcissa went next, placing her hands in front of her on the podium, folded together. She spoke about her regrets, about letting Voldemort into their home, but feeling as if she had no other choice. She defended Draco more than herself, crying through the stories of watching her son do unimaginable things for her sake. Despite the shaking of her voice, her body stayed very still. 

Draco felt his eyes water as she spoke, honored that his mother would indict herself in his defense. When she sat back down, she stopped for a moment to lean down and kiss his forehead. A tear slid down his cheek, and he sniffed a breath in, swallowing around the lump that had formed in his throat. 

“Draco Malfoy, you can now approach the bench for your defense,” Shacklebolt stated, slamming the gavel down again to bring order to the whispering court. Draco stood up, trying to appear as strong as his mother did. He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. 

“The first thing I would like to say is that there are no excuses for the actions I took during the war. I do not plan to stand here and excuse what I did - simply explain. The circumstances under which I took the dark mark were extreme. My entire family was being threatened, my home under siege. The constant presence of Voldemort felt inescapable. I had no choice but to follow in my father’s footsteps, or die instead. I considered death,” Draco let out a dark wet laugh, thinking of how many times the thought crossed his mind. How many times during the war he considered taking an _Avada Kedavra_ over going through with the orders he had. “I considered death almost every day. But I knew once I was dead, my family would suffer even more for my betrayal.” His voice cracked, throat closing around a sob. He blinked back tears forming in his eyes. 

“I truly, wholly, and completely saw no options other than to follow orders. The one time I had an out - Dumbledore offered it to me in his last moments - I was too late. I was ready to surrender, to end the suffering, but the rest of the Death Eaters were already there. I had no way of getting out of the situation. Snape had followed through with his promise to Dumbledore and killed him,” Draco was crying now, he didn’t think of that moment often. He regretted not turning his wand over sooner. He regretted not going and speaking to Dumbledore. He regretted so _so_ many things about sixth year. He looked up for the first time since starting his testimony, and his eyes immediately landed on Potter. Their eyes met, as Draco took in a ragged breath. Potter seemed to understand. Draco shook his head clear of the thought - the dream from the night before had put weird ideas in his head. He couldn’t afford to entertain them. 

“So I do not ask you for absolution. I do not ask for forgiveness, I don’t believe I deserve it, if I’m honest with you. I have remorse for every single action I took in the last two years. Quite frankly, in my entire life. I have been raised to think one thing about muggles, and muggleborns, and anyone not considered ‘pureblood.’ I had my doubts when I first got to school about these philosophies, but nothing affirmed how wrong my father was like the war. There is no amount of rhetoric that will convince me that a group of people are less than human, and deserve life less than me or anyone else. Thank you for hearing me today,” Draco raised his hands to his face, wiping the tears from his cheeks, and turned back to his seat. 

The court was silent as he sat down. His father was glaring at him, but Draco met his eyes and set his jaw. His mother was crying again, and grabbed his hand in hers when he sat back down. He entwined their fingers as best he could, squeezing tightly. 

After a few moments of silence, the court broke out in murmurs. The members were clearly discussing their fates, what punishments would be fitting. Soon, Shacklebolt had received multiple pieces of paper. He read through them all, then banged his gavel to regain everyone’s attention. 

“First order of business. The court has agreed that due to the fact that your entire family was involved in this war, reparations must be paid. Malfoy Manor will be seized. In addition, you will have to pay out your vaults until you are left with a maximum of 5,000 galleons or every single victim from the war has received their fair due. Every family involved is paying as such,” Shacklebolt announced. Draco swallowed tightly. He knew in his heart that the manor would most likely be seized, but 5,000 galleons? That was so little. His entire way of life, everything he had known, would shift. If he stayed out of Azkaban, that is. 

“The court will now vote on the verdict of Lucius Malfoy. All in favor of life in Azkaban without parole?” Shacklebolt said, and every hand in the court shot up. Draco’s heart sank. He never wanted to see his father again, but he couldn’t help the pang of sympathy and pain from knowing his father would stay in that horrid place forever. He wanted to _choose_ to never see him again, not be forced into it because his father was losing his mind in the worst place on earth.

Lucius seemed to have finally understood the fight was lost. He hung his head, scowling at the floor. A guard came behind him and dragged him out. 

“The court will now vote on the verdict of Narcissa Malfoy. Based on her own testimony, as well as the favorable testimony from Harry Potter, I propose she receive five years of house arrest followed by five years of parole.” Draco looked up hopefully, meeting his mother’s eyes in shock. She reflected his feelings. Potter had testified in her favor? What positive could he have to say about his mother? Draco knew that was most likely what had saved her. Ten years of punishment, and none of it in Azkaban? That was more than he had ever allowed himself to hope for. Maybe there was hope for him yet. 

Almost 70% of the court raised their hands. Shacklebolt slammed the gavel down. It was official. His mother had received the lightest sentence he had ever thought possible. He could weep with joy. 

“And finally, in the case of Draco Malfoy. Based on his own testimony, his age, and favorable testimony from Harry Potter-” Draco’s eyes snapped up to Potter, whose face was surprisingly neutral. Draco’s mind ran through a thousand possibilities. What on Earth could Potter have said that was good about _him_? “-I propose a year of probation, with any infraction an automatic sentence of five years of house arrest and five years probation. All in favor?”

Draco’s eyes widened, his eyebrows nearing his hairline. _One year of probation?_ There was no way the court would agree, Shacklebolt was simply being optimistic, giving him false hope-

Hands went up. Slowly, but they went up. One by one, until almost the entire court was in agreement. Draco felt his chest cave in, his heart beating out of his ribcage. He must be dreaming again, false hope in his subconscious. He looked towards his mother, who’s cuffs had now been removed. 

“That’s settled then. One year of probation,” Shacklebolt banged his gavel twice, “Court dismissed.”

The cuffs binding his wrists together disappeared. He stood up and reached for Narcissa. They embraced, his arms around her waist. He buried his face in her shoulder, tears streaming down his cheeks. The feeling of relief filled him from his toes to the tip of his head, his chest heaving in sobs. He would never have to return to Azkaban. 

Narcissa hugged back tightly, stroking the back of his head as he sobbed. Her body shook slightly as she cried too, and she took deep breaths directly in his ear. He squeezed her tighter and tighter, scared to let go. He wasn’t completely convinced that he wouldn’t wake up in Azkaban if he looked up again. 

His mother pulled back first, gripping his shoulders. She looked in his eyes and wiped the tears from under them. He sniffed in a breath, before releasing it shakily. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered. 

“Believe it.” Narcissa smiled, slightly sadly. He nodded, trying to regain control of his breathing and his emotions. His mother looked over his shoulder, “There is someone we have to thank for this.”

Draco turned around to see Potter standing there, hands in his pockets. He looked distinctly more disheveled than Draco had ever seen him. His hair was it’s normal mess, but there were dark circles under his eyes and his gaze seemed hollow. He wasn’t wearing robes, just a ratty T-shirt and baggy jeans. He bit his lip and looked at the floor. 

“Potter.” Draco started. His mind drifted to the dream from the night before. Now that he knew Potter had actually testified at his trial, it seemed even more possible that it was a soulmate dream. But he still couldn’t bring himself to believe that he would be bonded to Potter. 

“Malfoy.” Potter nodded at him. “Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Call me Narcissa, please,” she walked over, offering her hand. Potter shook it. Draco stood awkwardly, unsure what to do. “We can not thank you enough for testifying in our favor.”

“No need to thank me. You both saved my life,” Potter responded, returning his hand to his pocket. “I actually - er. I was hoping to have a word with Malfoy, uhm- Draco.” He looked past Narcissa, and made eye contact with Draco. He smiled slightly.

“With me?” Draco asked, shock filling him. The possibility of the dream from the previous night being a soulmate dream came up again. 

“No, the other Draco Malfoy,” Potter said, rolling his eyes with a smile. Draco had to bite down a smile. Potter’s sarcastic nature hadn’t been broken by the war, apparently. He seemed to think Draco was mad though, as he added, “Sorry, sorry. That was rude. Yes, you. I assume you also know what this is about?”

Draco’s eyes went wide with shock. So, his soulmate was Harry Potter. He was actually destined to spend the rest of his life bonded to Harry Potter. _Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived_. His mind couldn’t catch up. His mother was looking back and forth between them. 

“I-I guess I do,” Draco nodded. “We, uhm. We’re soulmates.”

“It appears that way.”

They stared at each other for a moment, green and grey eyes locked. Draco blinked a few times, looking at the ground. Potter didn’t seem disturbed by the idea. In fact he seemed almost....okay with it. Draco ventured to ask the question, “And what does that mean? For you?”

Potter took a deep breath and sighed out. He folded his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure, exactly. I’m not as mad as I thought I would be. I thought I would start by offering you and your mother a place to live, now that the Manor isn’t an option.”

Draco felt like he was on a roller coaster. He had woken up that morning in Azkaban, and now was being offered a space to live with his soulmate, who just happened to be fucking _Harry Potter_. 

“Well, anything is better than where we came from today. So. Sure,” Draco said. 

Potter let out a soft chuckle, “Yeah, I would assume so.”

There was silence again. Draco looked at the floor, trying to gather his thoughts. 

He had always known he was gay, a few experiences with Pansy in third year confirmed that for him if he’d had any doubts. And he wouldn’t lie and say he had never noticed that Potter was attractive. Objectively, he’s just Draco’s type. Tall, dark, and handsome. A powerful wizard. A little rough around the edges. But when you’re drafted into opposite sides of a war - thoughts of romance kind of go out the window. He hadn’t given much thought to his soulmate since he was fifteen. 

Back then, he’d thought his soulmate would be a dashing man that would come and save him from his family. Somewhat like his own white knight. He wanted a tall strong man to fall in love with him and take him from his brutish father, like the fairy tales he had heard the muggleborns at school discussing. Someone named Cinderelly, or something like that, who was saved by her very own Prince Charming. Draco had always wanted that. He imagined his prince would be French, and all of his french lessons from when he was younger would finally pay off. 

When he gave it a good amount of thought, it made some sense, Potter being his soulmate. Everything in his life had always revolved around Potter. Even before he had _met_ Potter, his father had filled him with ideas that Potter would be the next Dark Lord. Only a truly dark force could have defeated Voldemort as a baby, Lucius claimed. And then there were the school years - every waking moment Draco was considering new ways to get under his skin, bother his friends, get his attention. 

The one year Draco’s life didn’t revolve around Potter- when he was focused more on the Vanishing Cabinet and his impossible task of killing Dumbledore - Potter was following him around, tracking him. Ended up slashing him to bits. 

Every step of his life had orbited Potter’s. 

“I guess. I guess it makes some sort of sense, doesn’t it?” Draco offered, shrugging. Potter smiled. 

“In a crazy way, yeah. It will take some adjusting though.”

“Well, when can we move in?” 

Potter gave him the biggest smile yet, and Draco hesitantly smiled back. Potter looked back towards his mother, who Draco had forgotten was standing there. Her eyes were wide in shock, but also seemed to understand that this was what made the most sense for their family now. She nodded slightly at Draco. 

“Grimmauld is all ready now, if you want to come with me.”


	2. Harry

Harry woke up in his own bed, in his own house, to the smell of bacon wafting up from the kitchen. Kreacher must have started on breakfast without his permission. He sighed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He reached for his glasses on his nightstand and saw the bottle, now filled with shimmering gold glitter, that read _My Soulmate_. Next to it laid Harry’s wand and the Hawthorne one he had been holding onto since the end of the war. Suddenly he remembered the events of the day prior. 

Draco Malfoy was his soulmate, had been given only a year of probation, and Harry had invited him and his mother to stay in Grimmauld Place. Perhaps _that’s_ who was cooking breakfast, and he would avoid having another discussion with his house-elf about how he prefers to cook for himself or not at all in the mornings. 

He put his glasses on, and sat up on the edge of his bed, his feet flat on the floor. Hermione would be proud of him for getting out of bed so quickly. He did a quick breathing exercise she had recommended to him - in through the nose, out through the mouth, ten times. It was meant to ‘center him’ and prepare him for the day ahead. It was the first day he had no trials to attend. It was meant to be his relaxing day in, a day fully to himself, but now he had some other things to deal with. 

Namely, Draco Malfoy, his soulmate. 

What a strange twist of fate, that Harry would be bonded to someone he had once so despised. If three years ago, someone had told Harry that his soulmate was Malfoy, he would’ve laughed harder than he ever had. Even the remote concept that he would ever look at Malfoy romantically was laughable. So much had changed in three years, though. 

Somehow, Harry understood. In sixth year he had borne witness to Malfoy’s pain, had seen how his choices had been made for him before he had a chance to argue. Harry knew what that was like. He knew the pain and anger that came from being drafted into a war that started before he was born, the grief from being too immature to handle the things you had to. He could see himself in Malfoy. 

The gay thing was less of a surprise than Malfoy was. Harry had always known about those feelings he had, the side glances at Seamus in the Gryffindor showers, the way he reacted to Cedric Diggory, and even the way his mind had wandered when he first met Bill Weasley. He had always known he was attracted to men. He didn’t necessarily like to acknowledge it, though. His aunt and uncle had made very clear how the world felt about gay men. _Queer. Freak. Pansy. Poof. Who’s Cedric? Is that your boyfriend?_ It was dirty, he assumed, just another thing about himself to make him unlovable. 

The wizarding world didn’t treat it with so much hostility, but it didn’t mean he was suddenly comfortable with it. He was terrified with how Ron would react, whether he would assume Harry had feelings for him that he didn’t, whether he would think Harry’s friendship with him was a total scam. 

Too many times he’d caught himself staring at Malfoy, and he had always just attributed it to his suspicious nature. All of sixth year made more sense too - he knew something was up with Malfoy, and technically he was right. But it was only because of how much he already knew about Malfoy’s habits that he noticed in the first place. He lost interest in _quidditch_ that year, all because he was so focused on what was wrong with Malfoy.

Not to mention all those weird thoughts about his hair and eyes gleaming in the sun, or noticing how thin he got sixth year, or noticing his height (Yesterday was the first time Harry was taller than him. It was a little strange. A little nice.), or the times he had to stop his eyes from lingering on his arse. 

When Harry thought about it more and more, it all made some sort of twisted sense. He wasn’t in love with Malfoy, he wasn’t even sure he _liked_ him yet, but he could. He could get there. And he might even want to. The first step, this morning, would be to return his wand.

Rubbing his hand over his face one more time, he stood up and made his way to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and washed his face, going back to his room to get dressed. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. 

“Harry, I’ve made breakfast. Come down and join us,” Narcissa said from outside, and then her footsteps left. He didn’t seem to have a choice. He quickly pulled on some sweatpants and a tank top, and tried to make his hair somewhat presentable. 

He made his way down the long staircase to the kitchen, to see a spread of breakfast being set out by Kreacher, and Narcissa and Draco sitting next to each other on one end of the table. 

“Master Harry has brought the rightful family back to Kreacher’s home, he has made Mistress happy, very happy, yes...” Kreacher whispered as he set down the final plate of eggs. Harry felt unreasonably underdressed in his own home, as both of the Malfoy’s were in semi-formal clothing. 

Harry ventured down and sat across from both of them, serving himself some eggs and pumpkin juice. Narcissa and Draco were already eating, and the table was quiet.

“Good morning,” Narcissa started. Harry took a small bite of his eggs. 

“Good morning. How did you both sleep?” He asked. 

“Quite well, thank you for your hospitality,” Narcissa answered. Malfoy was unusually quiet, pushing his eggs around his plate. He had a piece of toast he appeared to have picked at. Narcissa nudged him, and he looked up, his eyes somewhat blank. 

He looked in worse shape than he had in sixth year. The bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, the thin lines of his cheekbones, even his hair looked duller than its usual platinum shine. 

“It was nice to sleep on a bed again, for sure. Thank you,” Malfoy finally said, before turning his head back to his plate. 

“I’m glad you both had a good night.”

Harry ate his eggs slowly, trying to catch Malfoy’s eye again, but he didn’t look up throughout the entire meal. Narcissa continuously glared at both of them, and Harry eventually resorted to also staring at his food, scared of her watchful eye. He wasn’t sure why she was mad at him too, but he didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that glare again. 

When Kreacher came around and began cleaning the table, Narcissa stood up, smoothing out her clothing. “I’ll be in my quarters, reading.” Malfoy’s eyes shot up, looking scared. She left before he could get a word in, and then they were alone at the table. 

Harry took the opportunity to talk. “You look like shit.” Fuck, maybe he needed to work on breaking out of old habits before he attempted this. “I mean, you look tired.”

Malfoy looked at him blankly, his mouth set in a solid line. “Thank you for that distinction.”

“I’m. Bad at this. I’m sorry, I don’t know how to be nice to you,” Harry tried to explain. Malfoy just sighed, rolling his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Harry. “I know that sounds crazy. But it’s just a big adjustment. I’ve hated you because I was told to hate you, and now I’m realizing how much I didn’t actually hate you. But my brain still behaves that way.”

Malfoy’s eyes softened at this, and he bit his lip in consideration. “Well, I hated you because you’re incredibly easy to hate.” He smirked slightly, the upturn of his lip the only thing that clued Harry into the fact that he was joking. 

Harry chuckled, messing with his hair. “I am, aren’t I?”

“Mr. Saviour of the World.”

Harry shook his head, laughing a little, and Malfoy started laughing too, and then they were both laughing - at this table in Grimmauld Place, the entire situation so absurd there was nothing to do except laugh. 

“Mr. Boy Who Lived!” Harry exclaimed, laughing again. Malfoy’s face was alight with laughter, a way Harry hadn’t seen it in years.

“The Chosen Boy,” Malfoy added through giggles, then rolled his eyes. He seemed to be enjoying the moment but also slightly bewildered. 

“No, no, it’s the Chosen _One_ , c’mon get it right,” Harry corrected, laughing despite himself. Malfoy snorted quietly, trying to cover it up. They made eye contact with each other for the first time since starting the laughing fit, and it died down. Harry was sure he was blushing. Malfoy just looked so shockingly pretty when he was happy. His face flush from laughter. Harry took a deep breath, willing his blush to go away. “I, er. I did want to give you something.”

Malfoy’s face turned serious, his back straightened. His body language closed off immediately. “And what would that be?”

“It’s a surprise? Just come upstairs with me.” Harry wanted to see Malfoy’s reaction to getting his wand back, for some reason it felt private. Malfoy nodded, but still seemed hesitant as he followed Harry to his room. 

“You aren’t going to show me your dick are you?” Malfoy was standing in the doorway, arms crossed. 

Harry spluttered as he approached his nightstand, choking on air. “What? No- I? W-What?”

“Just checking, Potter. We might be soulmates but I’m not going to jump into bed with you right away.”

Harry shook his head, trying to get the images that were starting to appear out of it. Malfoy in his bed was certainly not a bad thing to imagine, even if it was slightly terrifying to admit that. But he would never expect that from Malfoy if he wasn’t comfortable, soulmates or not. “I would never assume anything, anyway. It’s not sexual, I promise.”

He looked at Malfoy then, making eye contact with him for the first time since entering the room. Malfoy looked surprisingly serious but nodded at him. “That’s good, I guess.”

Harry grabbed the wand, wanting the awkwardness to disappear as fast as it had come. Fuck Malfoy for bringing up sex so soon. Fuck himself for making it more serious than it needed to be. “I just wanted to return this.” He held out the wand. 

Malfoy looked at it for a moment, assessing. When he finally figured out what it was, he rushed across the room to take it. Harry held it out of his reach. “You’ll have to disarm me, to win it back."

Malfoy scowled at him, “You just grabbed it from me. Why would it work any different?”

“I struggled over it with you. You weren’t exactly offering it up.” 

Malfoy glared at him. He went to grab the wand again. 

“Seriously, Malfoy! You have to disarm me.” Harry went and grabbed his wand, holding it out for him to take. 

“No, Potter. Fight me for it.” 

“What?” 

“The way you got it from me. That worked, didn’t it? No magic involved. So try to keep it away from me. I’ll fight you for it.” Malfoy explained. He kept eyeing his wand, not even glancing at Harry’s face or other hand. He slipped his hand containing the Hawthorne wand behind his back. Malfoy was forced to make eye contact with him.   
  
“Fine. You can fight me for it. But if I win, you have to take my wand and disarm me, okay?” Harry agreed. He placed his wand back on the nightstand. 

Before he could finish putting his wand down, Malfoy was on him. He jumped on his back, and Harry screamed. Malfoy reached an arm around him and reached for the wand. Harry switched the hand he was holding it in, and then threw Malfoy off of his back onto the bed. 

He was up again quickly, reaching for the wand across Harry’s body. Harry pushed his arm away, grabbing it and turning him around. Malfoy grabbed his wrist and twisted, before ducking under his arm to reach for the wand again. The wand was inches from his fingers, but Harry tossed it into the air and caught it in his other hand. In his shock, Malfoy dropped his wrist. Harry made a dash to get across the bed, to the other side of the room. 

He was halfway across the bed when Malfoy tackled him down. He managed to end up on his back, with Malfoy straddling his waist, pinning one of his arms down near his head. Harry reached with his free arm to try and take Malfoy’s hand off, but Malfoy had already ripped the wand from his hand. 

His hand was suddenly free, Malfoy letting go to take the wand in both of his hands, admiring it. He was still sitting astride Harry’s lap, but Harry wouldn’t dare interrupt him to say something about it. The way he looked at the wand, the way his face lit up, Harry was in awe. Laying there, underneath Malfoy for the first time, and seeing his reaction to something so important, it solidified everything for Harry. He was ready to make this work if Malfoy was, even if it was certainly going to be a lot of work. 

Malfoy’s eyes lit up and he cast a quick _lumos_ , lighting Harry’s face. He looked down then, and for the first time seemed to notice the position they were in. His eyes widened, and he climbed down quickly. Harry thought he could see a flush rising up his neck, but he cast _nox_ before he could see clearly. “Well, it appears to have worked. Thank you, Potter.” 

“It’s no problem.” He still hadn’t moved, propping himself up on his palms on the bed. Malfoy looked at him quickly, and licked his lips before biting down on one, eyes at the floor. 

“I’ll see you around.” Malfoy said, moving to leave. 

“I would hope so, as we live together now,” Harry chuckled slightly, but Malfoy was very distracted in his leaving. He walked out without so much as a glance back. 

Harry frowned to himself, unsure of what he had done wrong. He had thought they were getting along quite well, considering the circumstances, but suddenly Malfoy just shut down. Had he said something? Or done something? Malfoy was the one who suggested fighting for the wand, he was the one that had jumped on _Harry!_

Maybe Harry had just looked at him too openly. He was never good at hiding his feelings, truly Gryffindor in the way he wore his heart on his sleeve. He probably had been far too fond, looking up at Malfoy. It was the only thing he could think of that would make Malfoy leave like that, like he was mad. 

~~~~

The rest of the day went the same way the next two weeks did: very, very, slowly. Malfoy did not so much as look at Harry whenever they saw each other, let alone speak to him. Every meal went by silently, with Narcissa staring a hole in his head about it. Granted, Malfoy probably had an equally sized hole in his head as well. But Harry could barely stand it. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t want to muck things up any further. He had apparently done enough damage already. 

On his mind, though, were a few other issues. All of them surrounding who he was going to tell about the situation. So far, he hadn’t told anyone that Malfoy was his soulmate, so no one knew they were living together. He wasn’t sure how to broach the topic with anybody. He knew he had to tell them (Hermione and Ron were only going to believe he “wasn’t feeling up to going out” for so long) but he was terrified of their reactions. 

And he hadn’t even thought about how they’d feel when he said he might actually be _happy_ about it. 

When Hermione asked him for lunch for the third day in a row, Harry knew he had no choice but to say yes. At breakfast, he informed Kreacher that he wouldn’t be joining them for lunch. Malfoy overheard, and scoffed. 

“Finally have somewhere better to be?” Malfoy rolled his eyes. 

Harry knew it was meant to be biting, but it just came across sad. He felt bad for leaving, suddenly, even though he knew he didn’t owe Malfoy anything. He scoffed back at him. “I’m just meeting up with Hermione. I haven’t seen her in two weeks.”

The silence that was met with was deafening. Harry watched as Malfoy’s mouth set in a harsh line, and his eyes went back to his eggs. “Sorry to have kept you from her.”

“Oh come off it. It’s been nice to have a break, honestly.” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes again, but fought down a sly smirk. Harry ate his breakfast with a small smile. Maybe he was being too obvious again, but Malfoy seemed placated by it this time. Progress. 

When lunch rolled around, Harry was fidgeting with his shirt for a while in the mirror, trying to figure out how to broach the topic with Hermione. He would have to come right out and say it, or else she would be jumping in with advice that doesn’t apply. He’d have to be quick. 

They met at a small cafe between Grimmauld and the entrance to the ministry, and got a table in the back with preset glamours for them. Being two of the most famous wizards in a generation didn’t come without its downfalls.

“So who is it, then?” Hermione said, as soon as the two of them sat down. Harry jolted, looking up from where he was fiddling with his napkin. 

“Who is-what do you mean?” Harry said, choking, slightly beside himself. 

“Who’s your soulmate? I assume that’s why you disappeared directly after your 18th birthday?” She gave him a pointed look, and he realized how stupid he’d been to underestimate her. Of course she already knew his reasoning, she’s Hermione. He shook his head and let out a breath, running his hand through his hair. The barista delivered their drinks, giving him a few extra seconds to gather himself. 

“It’s Malfoy.” He finally blurted, causing Hermione to cough into her coffee, dripping it on the table. He winced. “Sorry, could’ve warned you.”

“No, no. You’re perfectly alright.” She laughed a little, then looked directly at him, “I mean- are you? Alright?” 

Harry sighed, taking a sip of coffee. “Yes. I am. This isn’t going to be easy, I don’t have any delusions about that, but the more I think about it the more it makes sense.”

Hermione nodded at him, “You were both quite preoccupied with each other in school.” 

“Yea, that-uhm. I’ve been re-evaluating all of that, too.” 

“So how has he been since the trial? Have you seen him much?”

“Oh, er. Actually, he’s living with me. Narcissa too.” 

Hermione’s eyes widened, her eyebrows shot up. She seemed more taken aback by this news than by the fact that Malfoy is his soulmate. “That’s nice of you.”

“They didn’t have anywhere else to go.” Harry felt the need to defend himself, for some reason. He had made some bad decisions before, but he knew this wasn’t one of them. Malfoy was his soulmate, he had shown remorse, he was someone Harry knew could be trusted. “I have so much room in Grimmauld, it was nothing, really.” 

“It hasn’t been overwhelming?”

“It’s been underwhelming, if anything. We don’t talk much.” Harry thought back to that morning - it was the first time they had spoken since Harry returned the wand. Hermione’s lips pursed. 

“That doesn’t sound so great.” 

“It’s not ideal, but I don’t want to overwhelm him. I think I might’ve already done that.” Harry confessed. “I like him much more than I expected, Hermione.” 

She smiled at him sadly, “You? Overwhelming? Never.” 

Harry chuckled in spite of himself, then told her the events that transpired when he gave Malfoy his wand back. She considered it for a moment. 

“I don’t think you did anything wrong. He’s the one who forced you into the fight,” she noted, “I think you should try talking to him again. Try and figure out what you have in common.”

“Oh yeah, the things we have in common. Being forced into a war too young. Trauma from that war. Feeling responsible for the tragedy of war-”

“Harry, shut it. Obviously things that you have in common _besides_ the war. It may be too early to discuss shared traumas.” 

“We don’t have much else in common.” 

“You both like Quidditch, don’t you? What about that?”

Harry considered this. He hadn’t really thought much about what to talk to Malfoy about, just that he wanted to talk to him. He wanted to laugh with him again. The way that Malfoy looked with a genuine smile on his face, Harry wanted that back. Maybe Quidditch was the right answer. 

“That’s a good idea.”

Hermione smiled at him. “I know.”

Harry sighed, biting his lip before approaching a more serious topic. “Can you- I know I can’t really ask you _not_ to tell Ron, but I’d appreciate it if-”

“It’s fine. I won’t say anything to him. This is your business,” she said, reaching over and placing a hand over his. “But for the record, I think he will be as accepting as I was.”

Harry gripped her hand back, nodding. He finished the last of his coffee, pinching his eyes together against a headache beginning to form. “Thank you, ‘Mione. Really. I plan to tell him soon, but I’m still worried. Things with Fred are so fresh.”

“I understand that, and I agree, it’s not the best time. But I will tell you that - at the least - you need to come out with us more. He misses you something terrible, but he’s not too keen to admit it.” 

Harry rolled his eyes slightly, noting how she wouldn’t admit that she missed him as well. He smiled at her. “Okay, that’s fair. I’ll come out to pub night this week.”

“Great!” She smiled brightly at him, patting his hand. “Oh- I almost forgot the entire reason I wanted to have lunch.” 

“It wasn’t just to interrogate me on my soulmate?” 

“No, that was just an added bonus.” She winked at him. “I have news from McGonagall. She’s inviting anybody who didn’t have a chance to finish their schooling to return to Hogwarts on the first.”

She smirked as Harry’s heart stuttered in his chest. He could return to Hogwarts in two weeks, if he choose to. He wouldn’t have to go right into the Aurors. He could have a somewhat normal school year. “Oh my god.” He was aghast. Hermione took his hand again. 

“I assume that’s a yes? She’s sending out the official invitations today. Ron and I were already planning to go.”

“Of course!” Harry said, before his mind fell back to Grimmauld. _Malfoy._ His face fell. Would his probation allow it? Would Mcgonagall invite him back? “Is Malfoy going to be invited back?” 

Hermione’s face fell slightly, and she pulled the side of her lip between her teeth. “I’m not sure. If the Wizengamot allows it, I can’t imagine he wouldn’t be.”

Harry nodded, spinning his spoon in his near empty coffee mug. “Yea, that would make sense. I don’t see why they’d have a problem,” he began to get excited, he and Malfoy could _both_ go back to Hogwarts. Maybe there the two of them would be able to connect. “He’ll be easier to monitor there, if that’s what they’re worried about and-”

“Harry,” Hermione cut in, “Are you sure Malfoy is going to want to come back to Hogwarts?” 

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“He hurt a lot of people there. Despite what you said, he isn’t going to be welcomed back with open arms by most people. If he does come back, it’ll probably be really rough for him.” 

Harry thought this over. He hadn’t really considered what Malfoy’s life would be like outside of Grimmauld Place. Obviously, he knew it wouldn’t be a breeze, but he had known Malfoy wasn’t evil for a while now, he often forgot not everyone agreed with him. 

“Well, won’t there be other Slytherins there too? He won’t be completely alone.” 

Theodore Nott had been sentenced to Azkaban, Harry knew, so he wouldn’t be there. He apparently had been even more directly involved in the Death Eater operations than Malfoy, doing most of the torture at Hogwarts. Goyle, Zabini, and Parkinson, however, were all free or on probation. 

“Well the ones who aren’t in prison are mostly on the continent. Doesn’t mean they won’t come back if invited but...”

“It’s unlikely.” 

“Unfortunately, yea.” 

“Fuck. I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t want to come back. I want things to work out with him, even if it’s difficult, but I don’t know how it would work with him at Grimmauld and me in Scotland.” 

“Maybe some separation would be good?” 

Harry sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Maybe? I don’t know what would be good for us Hermione. There’s barely an us right now to be discussed.” 

She considered this. “Well, bring it up to him when you get back. Talk to him before the invitations go out. Whatever the outcome, talking is a good start.” 

“What if he isn’t even invited though?” 

Hermione chuckled a little. “Even if he isn’t, do you really think McGonagall wouldn’t listen to you?” 

His face flushed, still uncomfortable with the special treatment he got for being the Saviour. “I don’t think Malfoy would be so keen on taking favors from me.” 

“You’ll never know if you don’t talk to him about it.” She grinned at him, and he sighed with a smile. “I have to head back now, Ron is expecting me.” Harry nodded and began to get up, gathering his robes. 

“Thanks, Hermione. I’ll do that.” They both walked towards the floo. Hermione grabbed a handful of the powder and stepped into the fireplace. 

“Good. And I’ll see you on Friday.” She winked and said, “The burrow!” before being whisked away. 

~~~~

Back at Grimmauld Place, Harry paced in front of Malfoy’s door. He kept pulling his lip between his teeth, unsure of where to start the conversation about returning to Hogwarts. It was a more complicated issue than he wanted it to be, he wished he could just return without having to consider anybody else. 

There was far too much to consider. Maybe Malfoy wouldn’t want to go, and then what? If Harry chose not to go, would he resent him forever? What if he did want to go, but everyone hates him? What if he did want to go, but he wanted to act as if they weren’t even friends? 

Harry pulled at his hair, groaning, and leaned against the wall next to Malfoy’s door. Okay. He could do this. He could have an adult conversation with his soulmate about their future. He just has to knock. 

He took a deep breath, standing in front of the door, lifted his hand-

The door swung open. Malfoy was standing there, pajama bottoms slung low on his waist, no shirt on, arms crossed over his chest. Harry’s breath was gone too quickly for his own liking. His eyes drifted down Malfoy’s chest, ghosting over the faint scars there, down to the line of his joggers. 

“Can I help you?” His eyes snapped back up, meeting Malfoy’s harsh gaze. “You’ve been pacing out here for ages as if I couldn’t hear you.” 

Harry definitely looked like an idiot, jaw slack, trying to gather his thoughts. There was a reason for him being here, but it escaped him now. All he could think about was his surprising desire to kiss every scar on Malfoy’s chest, right up to his lips. 

“Er-uh. Yeah. Sorry. It’s just, Hermione told me something at lunch and I wanted to talk to you about it.” Harry stood there awkwardly, trying to avoid looking anywhere in particular, thinking maybe that would help the situation. Malfoy may think he’s mad, but at least that’s better than getting caught checking him out. 

Malfoy sighed and opened the door. “Yes, well, come in I suppose.” He stepped back into the room, and gestured like a doorman. Harry chuckled a little, which made Malfoy’s serious cadence crack just slightly. 

Malfoy shut the door behind him, and Harry stood there awkwardly. The guest room he had given to Malfoy didn’t quite look lived in, the comforter on the bed was rumpled but that was the only sign of life. Every other part of the room - the desk, the wardrobe, even the nightstand - appeared to be untouched. It was exactly as Harry had set it up the morning before inviting Malfoy to live with him. It felt impersonal, like Malfoy had no plans to stay there long term. 

Harry was standing there, just glancing around the room, when Malfoy took a seat on the bed with his legs crossed under him. “Out with it, then.” 

Startled, Harry jumped a little, before he faced Malfoy again. Standing over him felt wrong, somehow, for this conversation, but he certainly didn’t want to sit down next to a half naked Malfoy on his bed. That was a very, very, bad idea. Harry sat down on the floor. 

Malfoy’s eyebrows raised at him in shock, his mouth falling open a little. “Why are you sitting on the floor? You look like an idiot.” He bit his lip, poorly trying to hide a smile. His chest shook with a laugh. 

“Uhm. I didn’t-I don’t know.” Harry considered the floor, looking at it. He wasn’t sure of the logic that had ended him here, as he looked at the desk chair not two feet from where he sat. But here he was. And he wasn’t about to let Malfoy goad him up again, either. Malfoy was still just staring at him, trying and failing to conceal his laughter. “Anyway. The thing Hermione told me.” 

“Yes. The reason we are here right now. Perhaps she told you that all furniture was poisonous, and that’s why you’ve chosen to deliver the news from the floor.” Malfoy teased him, and now it was Harry who was trying to cover his smile. He laughed a little, running his hand through his hair awkwardly. All this, just because Malfoy didn’t have a shirt on. He needed to get a grip, and fast. 

“No, no. You’re perfectly safe up there. No poisonous furniture.” 

“Well that’s good to hear.” Malfoy smirked at him. It was so nice to see him even a little happy, instead of the gloomy face he usually wears to meals. 

“Anyway. She told me that McGonagall is inviting anyone who didn’t get a chance to finish their time at Hogwarts back this year. I want to go back, but I wanted to talk to you about it before the invitations came today.” 

The smirk was gone, Malfoy’s face had closed off again. He rubbed over his Dark Mark, which Harry had barely noticed until now. It was faded now, pink scar tissue instead of a deep black mark. Malfoy scratched at it. “And why would it matter to me if you returned to Hogwarts? Unless you’ll be kicking us out while you’re there, in which case-”

“No! No, not at all. I wanted to see if you wanted to come back, too.” 

Malfoy’s eyebrows shot up, his hand stopped rubbing/scratching at the mark. “Oh.”

“I don’t know for sure that you’ll be invited, but considering the outcome of your trial I can’t imagine you wouldn’t be, and even if you aren’t I can send an owl to McGonagall-” 

“I don’t need you doing me any favors.”

“I know that. I would do it even if you weren’t my soulmate. You deserve the same chance as us to finish schooling, if you want to.” 

“What if I don’t want to?” 

Harry pursed his lips. He had selfishly hoped that Malfoy would want to attend Hogwarts again. “I’m still going to go, but you’ll be welcome to stay here.” 

Malfoy nodded, and seemed to mull over the idea. He stared down into his lap, rubbing his mark again. “Have you told everyone about us?”

“No, just Hermione.” Harry explained. He wasn’t sure he wanted everyone to know yet, considering how new it all was. But once they were something, he knew he wouldn’t want to hide. He just didn’t want the endless questions while they worked it out. “If you do come back, we don’t have to tell anyone until you’re comfortable.” 

“Until I’m comfortable? Don’t you assume I’d want to scream it from the rooftops? My reputation could use the boost.” Malfoy asked him, scoffing. Harry was taken aback. He hadn’t considered that as a reason Malfoy would want to tell everyone about them. Quite angry that he would consider using him like that, Harry stood to leave. 

“No, I didn’t assume that actually. But if that’s all you’re expecting from this-” 

Malfoy grabbed his wrist before he could get to the door. “It’s not. I won’t say I haven’t thought about it, but I just. I thought you would assume the worst.” 

They stood there, looking at each other, Malfoy still gripping his wrist, his eyes sincere. Harry looked down, nodding a little. “Sorry.”

“I brought it up.” 

“Yea, well, I believed it.” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Always the fucking martyr. You had every right to assume that was true. I didn’t give any indication it wasn’t, until I said so. Anyway. What's the situation going to be with other Slytherins returning?” He sat back down on the bed, this time gesturing for Harry to join him. 

He sat down next to Malfoy, his feet still planted on the ground, so Malfoy was a little behind him on the bed. “We aren’t sure.” 

“Well. That’s not very promising.” 

“We assume they’ll be invited back if you are, but we don’t know if they’ll come back. Most of them are in France or something.” 

Malfoy chuckled, “Yea, I suppose Pansy and Blaise would’ve left as soon as possible. But if they’re invited, I bet they’d come back.” 

“You think so?” 

“France is nothing special, and they both hate their families enough to want to leave.” 

Harry processed Malfoy’s flippant reference to a place he’d never even dreamed of visiting faster than he processed the fact that it sounded like Malfoy was leaning towards coming back with him. 

“France is ‘nothing special,’ are you serious? I mean- wait. Are you planning to come then? If they will?”

Malfoy huffed. “I didn’t say that.” He didn’t sound very confident, though, so Harry was still hopeful. 

“You didn’t _not_ say that.” Harry smirked. 

“Let’s see if I receive an invitation.” 

“But you’ll come if you do?” Harry turned slightly, looking directly at Malfoy for the first time since sitting on the bed, grinning widely. They were closer than he expected, and when he turned to look at him, his hand braced itself very close to one of Malfoy’s thighs. 

Malfoy flushed, and sucked in his cheeks. His eyes glanced down at Harry’s hand before quickly meeting his eyes again. “Let’s see if I get an invitation.” he said again, slowly, each consonant a sharp sound. It was Harry’s turn to flush. Malfoy smirked at him, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Harry nodded. He turned away a little, smirking right back at him. “Well, I’m sure the letters will come at dinnertime. So we’ll see then.”

“We will.” 

Harry stood up, brushing the tops of his thighs for invisible dirt, stalling. He turned back when he reached the door, smiling at Malfoy, who was still sitting cross legged on the bed. “See you later.” 

~~~~

The mirror seemed to be mocking him. He couldn’t find an outfit that was casual enough for dinner in his own home, but nice enough that Malfoy might notice it. He hated himself a little for caring so much about Malfoy’s opinion, but he did, and especially with the possibility that tonight could have the news that they were returning to Hogwarts. It felt monumental, Malfoy agreeing to come with him. 

He finally settled on a green sweater Luna had bought him - the color apparently “brought out his eyes" - tucked into a pair of black jeans. It was certainly more fancy than he usually wore to dinner. He would be shocked if Malfoy didn’t notice, but he hoped it was casual enough that he might not tease him too much. 

As he got closer to the kitchen, he could hear Malfoy and Narcissa talking, which was unusual. He stepped into the kitchen to hear Narcissa say- 

“Why can’t you see how _dangerous_ that would be?” 

Harry coughed a little before entering, and both of them fell silent. “Er, Hello.” 

“Ah, Harry! Good evening.” Narcissa said, smiling more pleasantly at him than she had since the night they moved in. Malfoy himself was pointedly silent, staring at Harry. Harry adjusted his collar self-consciously, hoping he wasn’t as obvious as he felt. 

“How are you?” Harry responded as he sat down, Kreacher immediately placing a plate in front of him. Harry began levitating the food to his plate. 

“Quite good. Waiting on the post.” Malfoy finally spoke up, as he took a bite of the shepherd's pie. He looked directly at Harry, his mouth turning up so slightly Harry almost didn’t catch it. 

Narcissa’s kind face turned hard again at the mention of the post. Malfoy obviously told her about the invitations. He was still smirking at him though, and that made Harry feel better about Narcissa’s apprehension. 

“Same.” Harry took a bite of his dinner, smirking back at Malfoy. “I’m hoping there’s good news.” 

“Me too.” 

It was the closest Malfoy had come to admitting he did want to come back, and wasn’t just doing it because he felt he had to. Although, maybe his definition of good news was different from Harry’s. 

He didn’t have time to ponder the situation longer as an owl was tapping on the window to the dining room. Malfoy’s eyes raised as he looked at it, and Harry followed his gaze. The brown barn owl was gripping the window sill and tapping aggressively. When it noticed Harry looking it cocked its head as if to say: “Don’t keep me waiting.” 

Harry jumped up and went to the window, letting the bird in, where it dumped two letters. 

One addressed to,

**_Harry Potter_ **

**_12 Grimmauld Place,_ **

**_London, England_ **

**_The Master Bedroom_ **

and the other to, 

**_Draco Malfoy_ **

**_12 Grimmauld Place,_ **

**_London, England_ **

**_The Second Room on the Second Floor_ **

Harry gave the owl a small piece of meat from the shepherd's pie, and sent it on its way. When he turned back to grab his letter, Malfoy had already picked up his own. He was just standing next to the table, staring at it in his hands. Harry reached for his own, standing opposite him. 

“I never thought I’d see another one of these.” Malfoy said, mostly to himself. Harry’s eyebrows raised at the vulnerable statement, but when he went to comment he was met with an icy Malfoy glare. So he let him have his moment. 

Harry himself ran his fingers over the edge of the letter, realizing it would be the last one he ever saw until he had his own children. It was surreal, staring at the red wax seal. After all of the trials of the last year, the absolute hell he had gone to, after _dying_ three months ago - he would be returning to Hogwarts as a normal student. 

He felt a sudden urge to cry, a lump catching in his throat as he sat down at a random chair towards the end of the table, away from his food and Narcissa. He stared at the letter, looking up only when he heard the chair across from him pulled away from the table. Malfoy sat down. His eyes only glanced at Harry quickly before returning his attention to the letter. Harry watched as he ran the pad of his fingertips over the wax seal. 

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Harry ventured. Malfoy’s eyes snapped to his. 

He nodded. “I don’t know why I don’t want to open it.” 

“Count of three?” Harry offered, slipping his finger under the lip of his envelope so he was ready to open it. Malfoy did the same and nodded. 

“One.”

“Two.” 

Then simultaneously, “Three,” and they both tore open their letters. Harry pulled out the thick stack of papers, and began reading. 

_Harry Potter_ _-_

_Due to extenuating circumstances, you were unable to attend your seventh year of Hogwarts and complete your schooling. Considering these circumstances and your performance as a student in previous years here, we are extending an offer to return for a one time offered Eighth Year._

_This Eighth Year will lead to the completion of your NEWTs. However, as all of the students returning are adults in the eyes of the Ministry, the most common restrictions on students will not apply. There are obviously limitations to these freedoms, but the specifics of this policy can be found further in this letter._

_Most notably, Returning students will have the chance to live with their soulmate, whether or not they are also attending Hogwarts. The Eighth year students will have their own common room and dormitories. All the rooms will have accommodations for two people, so people without soulmates will be randomly assigned roommates._

_We hope you take advantage of this opportunity. All other information (class list, packing list, etc.) is included in the further pages of this letter._

_Term starts on September 1st._

_Sincerely,_

_Headmistress Minerva McGonagall_

When Harry finished reading his letter, he looked up at Malfoy. He was already flipping through the rest of the welcome letter. He mouthed along as he read through quickly, he almost looked excited. 

“Well? What do you say?” Harry braved to ask outright, trying hard to get a read on Malfoy’s frantic page flipping. 

“Huh?” He looked up at Harry. Malfoy was so absorbed in the letter he seemed to have forgotten he existed. 

“What do you say? Are you definitely coming back?” 

Malfoy’s eyes rolled and he huffed, exasperated. “I thought I’d made it abundantly clear that if I was invited I would be attending.” 

Harry’s mouth dropped open, “Clear? If anything you’ve purposefully kept your answer incredibly cryptic just because you like to fuck with me!” He took in Malfoy’s new gait, his arms crossed and smirking. “Like you’re doing now.” Harry chuckled a little and Malfoy’s grin spread. “Fuck me.” 

“I thought we established you aren’t entitled to that.” Now Harry rolled his eyes, not letting the goading get to him. He did feel his cheeks heat slightly, though. 

“My sincerest apologies.” 

Malfoy raised his eyebrows with a small smile and looked back down at the letter. His smile softened, “I’m very humbled to be invited back.” 

Harry bit down on a fond smile, “I told you they would.” 

Malfoy scoffed and looked back at Harry. “You have an unending faith in other people’s goodness that I do not possess.” 

Harry frowned at the sudden seriousness, but smiled when he remembered the letter in his hand. “I was right though.” 

“In this instant, I suppose.” 

Harry decided it wasn’t something to fight about, at least not right now, so he dropped it, still smiling at Malfoy. Malfoy was looking back down at the letter in his hand, trying to hide a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! If you did and could leave kudos or a comment I would greatly appreciate it!


	3. Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains themes of self harm and anxiety attacks.

Draco and Potter talked now, he supposed. Ever since they got news that they would be returning to Hogwarts, Potter has spoken to him at every meal, and sometimes would join him in his room to talk during the day. It was strange. 

It’s not like Draco hadn’t known this would come eventually, but he assumed it would take longer for Potter to get over whatever was holding him back the first two weeks. After he had gotten his wand back, he was a little lost in his own world, readjusting to the wand. Potter hadn’t made any attempts to speak to him during that time, and Draco was too distracted to even try and make the first move.

They were set to leave for Hogwarts in two days. Today, they were going to Diagon Alley to buy any supplies they needed for the upcoming year. Draco was in the shower, staring at his feet while the hot water ran down his back. He was scared to go out in public again. His mind drifted to his mark, and looked down at the ugly thing on his arm. If he could barely stand the sight of it, what would the general public say? How could he expect to walk through Diagon Alley without everyone staring at it, knowing? “ _ Malfoy, the Ex-Death Eater.” _ They’d whisper. And he didn’t even want to entertain what they’d say if they saw him with Potter. He’d probably be accused of using  _ imperio _ on him.

Of course, he had been wearing long sleeves whenever he could, but the shower was the one place he couldn’t avoid seeing it. He hated it as much as he did the day he got it, maybe even more now. It disgusted him to see the raised scar on his skin, representing all the mistakes he made during the war. Just like in Azkaban, he felt his mind drift to dramatics, like cutting off his own arm. 

The moment the thought entered his head, he dropped his arm and turned around to grab the shampoo. He could be normal. He could be a person who didn’t constantly think about hurting themself. In prison, surrounded by dementors, it made sense for his mind to fall off those cliffs. But here? Now? In the shower of his soulmate’s house, getting ready to go out for the day? He had no reason to think so drastically.

Of course, that didn’t stop the thoughts from coming. Just because the universe had inexplicably given him a second chance didn’t mean he believed he deserved one. He figured getting the mark off would be a good start in proving that he was trying to make himself better. 

He rinsed his hair and body, then stared again at the mark on his arm. The skull stared back at him, almost glaring. Draco felt as if he could feel Voldemort staring at him through the faded scar tissue. All of his biggest regrets were wrapped up in the snake that fell from its mouth. He hated the thing. He wanted it gone. 

In a fit of something - rage, hysteria, pain -Draco pulled the shower curtain back and grabbed his wand. “ _ Delensi. _ ” He whispered the old erasure charm he had heard his mother use on some of the more unsightly dark arts blemishes around Grimmauld. He twisted his wand slowly, tracing the mark from tip to tip. 

He watched the threads of the magic connect as he finished his outline, and then the pain hit. 

It was excruciating. It felt as if there was a fire starting directly under his skin, and it burned outwards from the mark, down his fingertips and up to his elbow. He gripped his arm and screamed, falling to his knees. He held his arm under the water, hoping it would relieve the burning feeling, but there was no reprieve. The mark began glowing where he had outlined it, fighting against the removal magic he had embedded into it with his charm. It was turning black for the first time since Voldemort died. 

Suddenly, the pain of the dueling magic in his arm took over as his brain replayed the burning sensation he used to get when summoned. He felt this pain was that times 1000. He knew though, this pain would be worth it. He wasn’t being summoned to do some dark work, he was erasing his past. He was moving forward. 

He screamed again, head falling back as the pain doubled. His wrist felt as if it was turning itself inside out, and all he could do was grip it in his other hand and cry. His stomach lurched from the pain, sobs wracking his body. Every inch of him was shaking. 

The door to the bathroom burst open, followed by an excruciating scream that rivaled his own. He looked up to see Potter there, staring down at him from the doorway. Draco couldn’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed that he was naked, the pain was all he could think about. The fire was spreading up to his elbow. 

“What happened? Why does my arm hurt like this?” Potter demanded, gripping his left wrist. Draco remembered, far too late, that soulmates could sometimes feel each other’s emotions. Overwhelming ones - such as pain, fear, or sometimes true happiness - were the most likely to cross the bond. Potter was experiencing this pain with Draco, even if it was slightly less intense. 

Draco clenched his teeth against another scream, curling into himself as the burning continued. He gagged again, and then took as deep a breath as he could manage before holding his arm out to Potter. “I. Want. It. Gone.” It was labored, in between gulps of air and winces. 

The mark was now dark black, and the snake was curling up Draco’s arm towards his elbow. The skin untouched by the mark had a dark blue aura glowing from it. Potter stared down at it in shock. 

Potter whipped out his wand, clearly labored by the pain he was experiencing himself. “Fini-”

“No!” Draco screamed, stopping the incantation in its tracks. “No! I want it gone!” He was screaming all of it, the pain overtaking him, the burning traveling over his shoulder to his neck. 

“It’s not working! Whatever you did isn’t working!” Potter raised his wand again, and Draco panicked. The pain was brutal, yes, but once the mark was gone he could stop thinking about getting rid of the mark. And if he could stop doing that, then he could move on. He could behave like a normal member of society. He lunged at Potter, going for his wand. He tripped and only managed to grab Potter’s wrist for a moment before the both of them were tumbling to the ground. Draco went first, falling over the side of the bathtub, but he knocked into Potter’s legs, so he fell on top of him. Draco turned over just as Potter raised his wand again.

“Please! It’s going to work, just let it-” 

Potter grabbed both of Draco’s wrists and pinned them to the floor. Moving his arm sent a jolt of pain searing up through his forearm, an intense burst of pain that made them both scream out. Potter’s green eyes were blown out and intense as he stared down at him. 

“It won’t. This isn’t worth it.” His teeth were clenched, the sentence pained. 

“You have no idea-” 

Before Draco could blink, Potter had whipped off his shirt. He had a large scar in the center of his chest. It looked like a sunburst. Draco had only ever seen it in his soulmate dream, and he had forgotten about it. It was stark white against Potter’s dark skin. Despite his wrists being free now, Draco made no effort to move as he stared up at Potter. He didn’t go for the wand again, but when the pain in his arm intensified yet again he gripped it to his chest. Potter hunched over on top of him at the same time. 

“He’s marked me too. Twice. Look at this horrible thing. You think I have no idea? I have every idea. This isn’t worth it.” Potter gestured at his scarred chest. He was mad, Draco thought. The words were harsh. Draco’s eyes flitted to Potter’s forehead, the famous lighting bolt there. The burning flared again, and he screamed out. He was sobbing again, tears falling down his cheeks onto the tile floor of the bathroom. 

“I can’t- I want it gone.” He cried again. The pain moved down his side, spreading across the front of his chest from his shoulder. He watched the blue light from the charm moving across his body, fighting against the black lines from the mark that were spreading at the same time. Every inch it moved seared Draco’s skin. He was exhausted from the pain, from the fight. “I just want it gone,” He whispered through a sob. 

He caught Potter’s eye again, his own lids drooping as the pain moved across him. His green eyes shone with his own unfallen tears, the pain clearly affecting him but not as much as Draco. Where before Draco had seen a hardness there, Potter’s eyes turned soft. He bit his lip and reached for his wand. “ _ Finite Incantatem.” _

The pain stopped as suddenly as it had started. Draco gasped, settling back on the bathroom floor, exhausted. He felt as if he could melt straight through it. His chest was still heaving. The physical pain may have stopped, but the mental scars he’d been chasing away certainly hadn’t. He opened his eyes, and looked down at his forearm. 

The mark was slowly crawling back to its original position, now that it wasn’t actively fighting the erasure charm. The snake settled back into the skull, and the black faded into pink scar tissue. Draco stared at it for a while, unable to cry anymore than he had already this morning. 

A hand grabbed his wrist. He had managed to forget about Potter, despite his weight still holding him down. Potter held his wrist gently, and then ran his fingers over the scar. Draco winced, trying to pull away. Potter gripped him tighter. His fingertips skidded so lightly over the raised skin, they left goosebumps behind. Draco tried to ignore the fact that he was naked, and Potter shirtless, in a quite compromising position. The moment felt delicate. Draco didn’t want to break it. 

He stared at his arm as Potter continued his strange investigation of the scar. He felt almost... cherished. But that didn’t make any sense. Potter had no feelings for him, not in the way that would make him this careful anyway. Sure, they had spoken more over the past two weeks, but not about anything substantial. There was no indication that Potter had any more feelings for him than the obligatory casual friendship that came from being soulmates that used to hate each other. 

Potter stopped, letting his entire palm rest over the mark. Draco risked a glance up at his face, and was surprised to find him staring back. The eye contact was uncomfortable, but Draco couldn’t look away. 

“You don’t need to get rid of this to forgive yourself.”

Merlin. Of course Potter would come out with something like that, cut into his psyche so totally and completely. Draco bit his lip and turned away, his cheek resting against the tile. He resisted scoffing. 

What could Potter know about forgiving himself? He was the saviour of the wizarding world, all he’d ever done was be noble and risk his life for others. He had nothing in his story to forgive himself over. 

“Please don’t try and get rid of it again. Not on your own.” Potter whispered. He was still holding Draco’s wrist in both of his hands. Draco looked past him at the ceiling, blinking past tears. 

“I don’t want to look at it anymore.” 

Potter sighed, his grip on Draco’s arm relaxing but not letting go. Draco met his eyes, which were filled with sympathy. Draco had expected him to be more angry, to lash out at him. After all, Draco hadn’t even considered Potter getting hurt in all of this. He had gone through that pain for nothing. But yet he was still here, sitting with Draco, managing to be compassionate. 

“We’ll figure it out. I promise. But you can’t- you can’t hurt yourself over it. You don’t deserve it.” 

It hung in the air between them. Draco appreciated the sentiment, even if he didn’t agree. He had done horrible things. He had witnessed horrible things and done nothing. He knew that he deserved to be punished. Potter’s endless forgiveness and empathy didn’t erase his past. But Draco knew that wasn’t the argument they were having. They weren’t going to sit on this floor and discuss his own moral failings. Draco knew Potter wouldn’t let this go until he promised not to hurt himself again. 

“And you certainly don’t deserve to be hurt by proxy, eh?” Draco tried for lighthearted, but it came out too weak and miserable to be taken as a joke. It wasn’t much of a joke anyway. Potter truly didn’t deserve to be bound to someone like Draco, and didn’t deserve to be hurt by it either.

“That’s not what this is about.” Potter was very serious. 

Draco sighed, “I know. I won’t do this again.” 

They locked eyes for a moment, Potter seemed to be assessing his statement. Finally he nodded, and let out a relieved breath. He relaxed, which made it so he was sitting more firmly on Draco’s hips. Draco was reminded a moment too late how naked he was, laying in a pool of water from the shower. The water was still running. 

“Thank you.” Potter said. He nodded to himself. Draco nodded as well, his eyes shifting to the ceiling again. He couldn’t handle his attraction to Potter on top of everything that had just happened. If his dick decided to betray him now he would never forgive it or himself. Potter looked down at himself, and seemed to notice for the first time the position they were in. He coughed into his fist before scrambling off of Draco. “Er- need any help?” He offered a hand out. Draco took it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. 

He moved away from Potter as quickly as possible. He reached down and covered himself the best he could, turning and bending down to turn off the shower. Potter cleared his throat. 

“I’ll be downstairs having breakfast, whenever you’re ready to join. Are you still up for going to Diagon today?” Potter said. Draco looked over his shoulder, now stalling by fiddling with the faucet in the shower. Potter was facing the door, his shirt back on. 

“I’m- I’m not sure. Can we discuss it at breakfast?” Draco wished he could just say yes, but he wasn’t sure he could handle it. Just the thought of seeing other people - or rather, other people seeing him - had sent him into this dangerous spiral. He wasn’t sure he would actually be able to handle it if they went out and something bad happened. 

“Of course!” Potter said, a bit too quickly. He was rushing. “I’ll let you get ready.” Just as suddenly as he had entered the room, he was gone. 

Draco let out a deep breath, lungs clearing for the first time in what felt like hours. 

~~~~

When Draco walked into the dining room, Potter was already at the table while Narcissa was bustling around cooking the quiche they would be having for breakfast. 

“Draco! How lovely of you to join us!” Narcissa said. It sounded polite, but Draco knew his mother better. She was glaring daggers at him. Ever since Potter started talking to him, she wouldn’t let him sleep in or miss a meal. They needed to “deepen their bond whenever possible,” according to her. 

Potter clearly hadn’t told her the events that transcribed that morning. If he had, she would have been in his room giving him a piece of her mind before he could say a word. She wouldn’t have let him hear the end of it, how much danger he had put himself in. He felt ashamed approaching the table with Potter. Realistically, he knew Potter wouldn’t bring it up, or try and make him feel bad for it. But he already felt bad for it.

“Good morning, Mum, Potter,” He greeted, taking a seat across the table from Potter. He was sipping on tea, reading the Witch Weekly. “Anything interesting in the paper?” 

Potter made eye contact with him for the first time since he had come into the dining room. He raised his eyebrows, clearly surprised Draco seemed so okay. 

He had taken his time before coming down, cleaning up the bathroom with a few spells and letting himself have a good cry. It was rare he felt so violently, so passionately, and letting it out had made him feel just better enough to face Potter again. 

“Nothing quite. Normal post-war shite-” He glanced at Narcissa, who had already affixed him with a glare. She had been trying very hard to teach Potter table manners. “Er, post-war garbage.” 

“Ahh. Same old, same old?” Draco commented, allowing the tea to prepare itself in front of him. 

“Basically. I really only look at it to make sure there’s nothing in it about me, these days.” 

“Oh ho ho, big Potter, has to worry about his name being praised in the papers,” Draco smirked into his teacup. It was nice, that they could joke about that now. In the past weeks they’d been talking more, it came up more often than not, but Draco’s jealousy from when they were younger had completely faded. 

Potter smirked back, folding up the paper and placing it down next to him. “I’m just glad they’ve stopped running expose’s about my ‘soulmate’ and listing Ron as a contender.” 

“If they print that again the two of you may as well get married.”

Narcissa came over with the quiche, sitting down next to Draco as it floated to the center of the table. He grabbed a plate, and  _ accio _ -ed a slice onto it. 

“Witch Weekly is so unreliable even Bellatrix wouldn’t believe it nowadays,” She commented, smiling at Draco. His mouth fell open in shock. Usually she stayed silent during meals, content to let Draco and Potter figure it all out. She especially never commented if the subject shifted to the war or any of its participants - not that it often did, mind. 

Potter also seemed surprised. He was frozen with a bite of quiche on his fork, just staring at her. He and Draco made eye contact quickly, and then burst out laughing. Narcissa chuckled as well, taking a bite of her own breakfast. 

Breakfast continued on in the same way - light hearted conversation about nothing quite substantial. Draco played with his sleeves a bit through the meal, trying not to draw attention to his wrist but unable to stop thinking about it. Everytime Potter looked away, his mother elbowed him in the ribs and raised her eyebrows. He was obviously unable to ask what she meant by these assaults, but she seemed to think it was clear. Or at the very least she expected him to figure it out. He did not. 

By the end of the meal, he knew he would have a huge bruise on his side later in the day. Potter got up to clear his place, and Narcissa grabbed his arm and pulled Draco towards her. He was very, very, close to his mother, all of a sudden. 

“What happened? Something is different between the two of you.” Narcissa hissed. Potter, always forgetting about his wand, was hand washing his plate at the sink. 

“Nothing happened, Mother. Nothing’s changed.” Draco insisted, pulling his wrist out of her grip and sipping his tea. 

“The quiche was so delicious, thank you again Narcissa!” Potter said, without turning to face them. 

“It’s not a problem, I enjoy cooking.” She replied, still staring at Draco. She lowered her voice again, “It has changed. It’s subtle, but it’s changed. He’s looked at you differently this morning. He seems... invested in you in a way he hasn’t before.”

Draco was taken aback by this. Potter turned around before he had a chance to respond, and Narcissa stood up and took their dishes with her. She set them in the sink with cleaning charms. 

Potter stared at the dishes being washed with magic and sighed. “I always forget cleaning charms.” 

“This is why we’re going back to Hogwarts. Can’t have the Saviour himself forgetting he’s a wizard.” 

Potter rolled his eyes but smiled at Draco. “I don’t forget I’m a  _ wizard,  _ I just forget about cleaning charms. Hand-washing is ingrained in me.” 

“When did you ever have to wash dishes?” Draco scoffed. Harry Potter, washing dishes by hand? Who would have ever made him do such a thing? He was deemed a hero before he could walk, let alone wash dishes. Draco had never even charmed a dish to wash in his life, and he just grew up rich, no special titles. 

Potter’s face fell. The mood of the room shifted quickly. He bit down on his lip as he sat back down across from Draco. 

“I’m going to do some reading, boys,” Narcissa saw herself out of the kitchen. Draco watched her go, fidgeting with his sleeve. Usually he left meals with her. When Draco turned back to Potter, he was playing with his fingers, wringing his hands together. He was staring at them, contemplative. 

“If I hit a nerve, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no. You couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault, really.” Potter interrupted him, meeting his eyes again and then immediately dropping them. “I just. The muggles, that raised me? My aunt and uncle. They weren’t the greatest. And they used to force me to do all the chores in the house - cook, clean, everything. If I missed a spot on a dish I wouldn’t get food the next day. So I, uhm. Doing the washing up just comes naturally to me. It makes me jumpy if they aren’t done, sometimes.” 

Potter said the whole speech to the table, glancing up only a few times to look at Draco. At the end, he looked up and chuckled a little. Draco’s mouth hung open in shock. The things Potter was describing were horrible. He had assumed that Potter had a picturesque childhood, despite his parents death. An orphan with the power to save the world? Why wouldn’t he be coddled? 

How wrong he had been. No food if a plate was dirty? And Draco was sure this just scratched the surface. Potter seemed so down, just the mention of this shifting his entire mood. 

“I’m so sorry.” Draco offered. Potter’s face shot up at this. Behind his glasses, his eyes shone slightly. He was really upset by this line of conversation. 

“I never thought I’d hear you say that, Malfoy,” Potter smirked. Draco snorted and rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, yes, I have been known to have sympathy sometimes.” Draco responded, waving a hand to dismiss the thought. “But I’m serious. That’s terrible. I didn’t realize.” 

Potter sighed. “No one knows except the Weasleys and Hermione. And most of the Weasleys only know because Ron told them. And he only told them because my second year they locked me in my room with bars on the windows, and Dobby was stealing all my letters, so they couldn’t reach me at all, and they had to rescue me-” His eyes grew wide, gazing into the distance as he rambled, breath picking up as the story continued. Draco watched, stunned, unable to move until Potter took a deep, ragged breath and couldn’t seem to catch it. 

Draco stood up and moved around the table. He sat down next to Potter, grabbing his hand and letting him grip tightly. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Draco rubbed down his back, making slow circles. Potter was panicking. Draco could handle panic. He had talked himself out of situations like this many a time, especially in the last months of the war. “Count your breaths. Four counts in, four counts out.”

Potter nodded, his grip tightening on Draco’s hand, and took much deeper breaths. He continued rubbing his back, going in slow circles. When he had gone through these himself, he had always wanted someone there to ground him, and he was happy to be that for Potter. Everything from the bathroom that morning was running through his mind. They were both so broken.

After a few minutes, his breathing evened out, and his grip loosened. Draco slowed the rubbing to a halt, but let his hand rest there on Potter’s back. “Are you feeling any better?” 

He moved his head in a slow nod. His breaths were still slow and even, he was probably still counting them. 

They sat there for a while. Draco catalogued the way Potter’s nostrils flared on every inhale, and the way his back shook slightly on the exhale. The way his fingers laced through Draco’s. The way his hair fell over his eyes. There was a lot of time to observe Potter, in a way Draco hadn’t had a moment to yet. 

Just as Draco was about to pull away, worried it had been too long of them sitting there holding hands, Potter squeezed his hand and looked up at him. “Thank you. That-uhm. That happens sometimes. Especially when I talk about my childhood.” 

“No need to thank me.” Draco responded. He stared at where their hands were still clasped. Potter rubbed the back of his hand with his thumb, and Draco’s eyes snapped up. “Really. I used to get the same way, during the war.” Potter bit his lip, but not anxiously this time. He seemed somewhat... happy? 

“Well. If we have to be fucked up, at least we’re fucked up together, yeah?” He offered. Draco’s breath caught in his throat. It was the first time Potter had really said he was happy with their situation. Sure, it wasn’t the best terms, and it wasn’t exactly that he was  _ happy _ , but it was something. Something positive. Draco let his lips curl in a small smile to match Potter’s. 

A moment passed like that. The eye contact became a little too much, and Draco looked away. “So, no diagon alley today?” 

Potter chuckled, “No, I don’t think so. It’s been a long day and it’s not even 10am. I’ll send a letter to Hermione and ask her to pick up anything we need.” 

“Is she your personal assistant now?” Draco teased. They were still holding hands. Draco was hyper aware of every spot their skin was touching. 

“No, no. Her and Ron are going to Diagon today too. I’m sure she won’t mind picking up a few extra books.” 

Draco wondered if Potter had expected the four of them to meet up. If he had, Draco would have never forgiven him. Usually, he would bring it up. Throw it at Potter. Make it an argument. He didn’t want to ruin the delicate air around them right now, though. It was an argument for a later date. 

Potter squeezed his hand once more before letting go and standing up from the table. “I’m going to go do that. After, do you want to play a game of Wizard’s chess?”

He saw the olive branch for what it was. Despite their conversations in the past few weeks, they never planned to spend time together. Not even to do something so simple as playing a game. Maybe his mother was right. Something had shifted this morning, not just in Potter, but in Draco too.

“Sounds good. Are you sure you’re ready to lose, though?” 

Potter laughed wholeheartedly, “Awfully confident, aren’t you?” 

“I’ve seen you play against Weasley, I know you’re no good at chess.” Draco said. He stood up from the table as well, walking out towards the sitting room with Potter. 

“You’ve seen me play with Ron?” Potter asked, smirking a little. 

Draco blushed, found out for having paid more attention to Potter than he’d usually admit. “You played very loudly during study hour sometimes,” he justified. 

“Sure, Malfoy. We’ll see how well you paid attention soon.” Potter winked at him, and walked into the living room with the fireplace, leaving Draco to perseverate over all that had happened. They had held hands, Potter had  _ winked _ at him? It felt like he had entered a different reality. 

~~~~

The day passed by in a blur. They spent the day together, him and Potter, playing chess and talking and laughing. It didn’t feel quite real to Draco. He had been so sure for so long that someone like Harry Potter would never forgive him. Taking the mark had felt like a death sentence at the time. But yet, here he was, having survived the war, and living with his soulmate, who happened to be Potter. 

It was surreal. 

He, of course, beat Potter in chess every round. There was only one where he had even come close to losing, but Potter was exceptionally bad at predicting his moves. At dinner, Potter had suggested they play a seeker’s match in the morning. Draco agreed, even though he knew it was only because Potter was assuming he would win and get his redemption from the horrific performance at chess. 

Draco was not going to let that happen. 

As he tucked himself into bed, reflecting on the entire day, his mind drifted all the way back to the morning. His attempt to remove the mark felt like weeks ago, but really it had been mere hours. He ran his hand over it, letting his fingers feel the raised skin. He pushed away the memories of getting the mark, feeling it activate, watching it burn black. He knew he couldn’t let himself get caught up in it again. 

He pushed his shirt up and started running his fingers over his ribs. It had been about a week since they had truly been visible, but he could still count them underneath his fingers. He laid back against his pillow and counted himself to sleep.

~~~~

He woke up in a strange place. It was cramped and dark. He could see that the ceiling was directly above his face, he could reach out and touch it. When he tried, he noticed his hand wasn’t his own. It was dark, reminded him of Potter, but it was much too small and was missing the scar.

A light turned on outside the room, just a small sliver underneath the door. Then suddenly someone banged loudly on the door. 

“Wake up! You better be out here in five minutes cooking breakfast or you won’t get to eat any of it!” A shrill voice ordered, before walking away from the door. 

Even though Draco didn’t know what was going on, the person whose body he was in clearly did. His breath picked up, heart racing, as he moved quickly through the small room, pulling on a ratty oversized t-shirt and shorts. He grabbed a pair of glasses that Draco instantly recognized. 

So it  _ was _ Potter whose eyes he was seeing through, or rather dreaming through. It had been known to happen after a soulmate bond had been established - swapping dreams. Usually they were dreams that related to extreme emotions, similar to when feelings transferred through the bond. The only emotion he could really feel was fear. Perhaps they had swapped nightmares. 

He ran into the kitchen and started putting pans on the stove, but the pans wouldn’t fit. He tried pan after pan, but they were all too small to fit on the stove. They would look like the right size, and as he placed them down, they would just slip through the grate over the burner. 

A tall brunette woman in curlers appeared at his side, and hit him upside the head. 

“You useless boy! You can’t even find a pan to cook one egg!” Her voice made him shake, making it even harder to focus on the task at hand. 

The nightmare continued - he finally found a pan that fit, but then none of the eggs would break. He slammed them against the counter, the pan, the floor, but they wouldn’t crack. 

A stout man and a boy who looked like a miniature version of him appeared in the room, and began yelling in a similar manner to the woman. Potter stood at the stove, trying over and over to make eggs. Draco felt his heart racing and his breath heaving; he wanted desperately to do more, to finish the chore, so that the torment would end. 

A gruff hand grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him away from the stove. By this point he was crying, wiping hurriedly at the tears that fell down his face. 

“Don’t cry, boy!” The man shoved his head to the side. “No man in my house will cry. You’re useless. Go clean Dudley’s toilet.” 

Dudley must be the other boy in the room, who stared at him and smirked. “Yeah, go clean my toilet. Maybe you can handle that since you can’t handle breakfast.” 

The dream shifted, and he was back inside the small cupboard he had woken up in. He was curled in the corner, arms wrapped around his knees. Draco tried to make out details of the small room but again the dark prevented him from seeing anything. It felt as if the walls were moving in on him, getting smaller and smaller. 

Banging sounded from above him, dust falling on his head as someone jumped up and down on the stairs. Potter’s hands reached up and covered his head, ducking into the corner as the banging continued, and the walls got closer and closer together. As the ceiling closed in his hands moved from his head to push against the closing walls. 

“Help! Help!” He cried out. It was Potter’s voice as Draco remembered it from their first and second year, this young version of the Boy Who Lived dug up memories from that time for Draco. Memories of forgotten handshakes and petty (and not so petty) arguments. “Help! Someone help me!” 

The door was pulled open suddenly, the large man from earlier visible in the small doorway. “Stop shouting. You’ll wake up Dudley, and it’s his birthday. Get out here and start preparing breakfast. You’re going to the neighbor’s for the day while we go to the arcade.” 

Potter scrambled out of bed, met with a shove on the back from his uncle as he hurried to the kitchen. The surrealist dream suddenly turned real, much more like a memory as Potter prepared eggs and sausage for the family. His aunt and cousin joined his uncle at the table soon enough, all of them sipping their tea and laughing as Potter worked to feed them. 

While Potter was cooking the sausage, one of the eggs on the stove started smoking and burning. He quickly moved the pan off the burner, but the damage had been done. 

“Did you waste that egg?!” His aunt said from the table, getting up and moving towards him. Potter recoiled. 

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll eat it-”

“Of course you will! And you won’t eat anything else for the rest of the day.” She barked, twisting his ear as she watched him scrape the ruined egg onto a plate and place it to the side. “We’ll be telling Mrs. Figg you’re good and fed, so don’t even try and weasel food out of her.” She pushed him away when he finally started wincing from the pain in his ear. “Now finish breakfast. Quickly!” 

The dream skipped forward to when Potter was picked up from his neighbor’s home. He ran and joined the family in the car, and was met with overwhelming silence except for the whizzing of Dudley’s new toys from the arcade. He sat quietly, pressing himself against the door. His stomach was turning over itself in hunger, and betrayed his silence as it let out a loud grumble. His aunt turned over the passenger seat to look at him with a sneer. 

“Hush your stomach, will you? You won’t be getting food tonight. You ruined Dudley’s birthday breakfast.” 

Potter sunk back into his corner again, pressing against the door of the car as they pulled into the driveway. They walked into the house, Potter lagging behind as much as possible, clearly trying to go unnoticed.

“Come here, boy.” His hopes were crushed as his uncle addressed him from the front door. 

Draco’s heart fell as he felt the same resignation that Potter did. He couldn’t be older than ten, and he was so used to the horrible treatment from these people who were meant to be his family. The Malfoy’s may have made mistakes, but he had never been scared of his father as a child. He had never had to worry about whether he would get another meal. 

Potter’s uncle grabbed him by the collar when he reached the front door and dragged him down the hall to the small cupboard he stayed in. He opened the door sharply; it banged on the wall behind it. He shoved Potter in the room, and then stood guarding the entryway, staring down at Potter. 

Draco looked up, through Potter’s eyes, at the domineering man in front of him. He seemed scarier than Voldemort ever had. Sure, the Dark Lord himself was powerful, but he knew there were others who recognized his evil and were actively trying to take him down. This man in the doorway possessed all the power, and there was no hope to fight against him. 

“Don’t even dare try and escape.” 

The door slammed and the lock on the outside clicked, proving he was truly alone in the small space. Potter retreated to a corner on his small bed, pulling a blanket over his body and hugging his knees to his chest. He rested his head on his knees and sniffled, in an attempt to muffle his sobs. 

The light from the hallway that drifted in under the door disappeared. Draco was unable to tell what was memory and what was a dream now - the room seemed to get smaller again but Potter wasn’t reacting. He was crying and crying, chest racking with sobs. Fear and despair coursed through him, desperately wishing for a way out of this wretched place. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Leave kudos/comments if you feel so inclined. 
> 
> follow me on tumblr @impressivelyloud


	4. Harry

There was the distinct sound of a snake sliding across the floor, followed by slow footsteps closely behind it. Harry didn’t recognize the room he was in, but soon recognized the face in the mirror. Malfoy looked back at him and fussed with his robes, pulling the top button away from his throat. 

His face was unmoving, his eyes lifeless. Harry was scared of the mask he saw over Malfoy’s face in the mirror. 

He pulled his robes down to his wrist, glancing at his left forearm. To Harry’s shock, it was bare. He hadn’t received the dark mark yet. Harry felt the turmoil running through Malfoy’s mind as he spiffed himself up. He would not mourn the loss of clean skin. It’s a stupid thing to be sad about in the grand scheme of it all. 

A dream, Harry supposed, from Malfoy’s perspective. It had slipped through the bond. 

The door swung open. Nagini slithered into the room, Voldemort standing in the doorway. The snake curled around Malfoy’s feet. He met red eyes in his mirror and smiled. Time for a show. 

“Come, Young Malfoy. It is time.” Voldemort seemed to hiss, Nagini uncurling and going back to his side. If Harry didn’t know any better he’d think he had spoken in parseltongue.

Malfoy turned and nodded his head, allowing a small smirk to stay on his face. “Now, I know you are bound to be nervous. You are about to experience the worst pain outside of the cruciatus curse.” Voldemort put his arm around Malfoy’s shoulders and started out of his bedroom, down towards the Drawing Room in the front of the house. “But I’m sure you’re also most excited. It will all be worth it, make your father proud, yes?” Voldemort turned and looked Malfoy in the eye. 

Yes, his father proud. What else had Malfoy wanted? It’s all he’d been raised to do. To be his father’s son, to be a Death Eater, to follow Voldemort. No matter what he thought about the situation, he did not have a choice. This was the only way to save his family, to save himself. He had to smile and pretend to be happy that his father’s choices had landed him in this place. He was to fight against the right side, or die. Harry could relate to the stifling feeling of needing to protect his family.

Malfoy smiled. He nodded. Fear was the only thing he felt as Voldemort pushed the doors to the Drawing Room open. A crowd of Death Eaters were gathered there. All had come to see the ceremony. Malfoy followed in step behind Voldemort, Nagini moving next to them both, long and menacing. Every breath he took felt sharp, stabbing. His lungs would barely fill enough to keep him alive. 

Harry heard Malfoy contemplating in his head. His outward appearance showed none of it, but his internal monologue was rife with conflict.  _ What if I run? Avada Kedavra’s not meant to have any pain. Just death. I’d be dead quite quickly, nothing noble about it. Cowardly, really.  _ He was right, of course, Avada Kedevra didn’t have any pain. But there was nothing cowardly to Harry about choosing to die. 

Then his eyes locked on Narcissa, standing at the front of the room next to Bellatrix. Surely, if he ran, she would be next. Voldemort would turn on her immediately after the green curse hit him. Harry knew that her gaze was all that kept Malfoy from attempting to escape. 

When they reached the center of the room, the large chandelier hanging directly above them, the crowd of Death Eaters formed a circle surrounding them. 

“Draco Lucius Black Malfoy!” Voldemort’s voice boomed in the dead quiet of the drawing room. “Tonight, at precisely midnight, you will accept the Dark Mark. You will be branded to serve me.” Voldemort turned to face Malfoy, red eyes drawing up his body. Malfoy’s nostrils flared slightly, his body going hot. Voldemort drew his wand and pointed it at him. “Kneel,” he ordered, flicking his wand downward, forcing him violently to his knees. His head bent down, staring at his knees and fighting to keep his breathing steady. 

“Raise your left arm,” The Dark Lord said. Malfoy had a choice to make. Harry recognized it. He had made a similar choice when he walked into the forest. Refuse, and kill himself and his mother, or accept, and keep them living one more day at least. One more day. If he accepted, he may be able to get them out alive. Out of the war alive. Harry had died so his loved ones could live. Malfoy lived through hell for the same reason.

Malfoy raised his left arm in front of him.

Voldemort pushed his sleeve back sharply, and pressed his wand down on his bare arm. Malfoy winced, expecting a burn. Nothing happened except the point of the wand pressing farther into his flesh. A small chuckle left Voldemort’s mouth. It was eerie. “I assure you it will hurt more than you expect. It will be worth it though, you see. You will be mine.” It was all a whisper, only for Malfoy to hear in the silent room. 

“Raise your head! Meet my eyes!” Voldemort stepped back so his wand was an inch away from Malfoy’s arm. Malfoy did as he was told. 

“Do you swear to serve me?”

“I do.” It was like some bastardization of wedding vows Harry had seen made.

“Do you swear to come when called?”

“I do.” The words felt like poison on Harry’s tongue. Harry felt as the urge to drop his arm and accept death got stronger. But Narcissa stood just in his peripheral vision.

“Do you pledge your life to me, Lord Voldemort, and swear to die before betraying me?” The wand touched his arm again, lighter this time, barely there. Harry knew this was his last vow. A clock chimed somewhere in the distance. 

“I do.”

“Wonderful.” Voldemort raised his wand and brought it down on Malfoy’s skin. 

Malfoy screamed in agony. He hunched over, his arm held over his head only by the magic coursing through it. It was as if someone had filled his veins with alcohol and lit them on fire. It was as if someone was pushing razor blades up and out of his skin all at once, over and over, pressing screams out of him with each surge of a new line drawn. With a shock he threw his head back, writhing. No pain could compare. He wished quickly he had chosen death. What life was worth living when a pain like this existed in it? 

He heard a cackling over his screams, Bellatrix’s. He heard that sound and opened his eyes towards it, finding Narcissa’s eyes. She could not look at him as he screamed. He screamed for her. She did not come. More cackling. His eyes fell shut again, unable to bear it. 

The world went black. 

~~~~

Harry jolted awake, breathing heavily and sweating. It was still dark, the sky only just showing hints of light pink and blue. He cast a quick  _ tempus _ and found it wasn’t even seven yet. He laid back on the bed and pressed his palms against his eyes. 

The nightmare was unexpected. He and Malfoy had both had a rough day, of course, but he didn’t think that their bond was strong enough to facilitate a swapped dream. Harry’s, of course, was a nightmare. Maybe Malfoy had received a more pleasant dream from his side of the bond. Unlikely, though, considering the events of the day before. 

Harry glanced at the bottle on his bedside table. The gold liquid was shimmering brightly, and caught his eye. He picked it up, looking at the essence of his soulmate dream. 

That dream hadn’t been as frightening as the one from the night before - but it had been just as disheartening. Malfoy, all alone and cold in Azkaban, dreading his trial, expecting the worst. Harry never wanted to relive it. But he kept the bottle still. He couldn’t bring himself to get rid of it for some reason; he quite liked having a physical reminder of their connection, even if the connection was superficial at best. 

Resigned that he would now be awake, Harry sat up and started getting ready for the day. Despite having two weeks, he still hadn’t started packing for Hogwarts, and they would leave in the morning. Hermione would have his head if he missed the train, so the whole day was reserved for packing. Of course, being of age meant he could aid himself with magic, which would make the process much easier. 

While he brushed his teeth he wondered if he should mention the dream he had to Malfoy. It seemed more like a memory, and a delicate one at that. He wondered if Malfoy would discuss the dream that he had with him. He wondered what the contents would be. 

Harry was plagued by a variety of nightmares. He had the standard ones - going to class naked, forgetting his wand for an exam, etc. But there were also the ones of the war. The dark dreams where he remembered dying, dreams where he stayed dead. Those dreams tended to come along with memories from the final battle, like Fred’s death, or the image of Colin Creevey’s body. 

Then there were his worst nightmares of all. The ones of the Dursley’s. When he had one of those nightmares it usually took him a day to recover, trying to get out of his own head. One dream about his childhood, about the cupboard, put him back in the headspace of when he grew up. He would be jumpy all day, expecting any sudden movement to be Vernon there to smack him upside the head, or Petunia twisting his ear. A door slamming would make him shiver in fear, remembering being closed up under the stairs for days on end. 

He hoped Malfoy hadn’t had one of those dreams. They were often dark, and claustrophobic, and all around terrifying. Harry also wasn’t sure he wanted Malfoy to know all that about him yet. The panic attack the morning before had revealed quite enough about that subject. 

Although now that he thought about it, because of that panic attack it was even more likely that Malfoy had one of those dreams. Fuck. 

That’s one way to strengthen their bond before going to Hogwarts. Harry losing 30 rounds of chess apparently wasn’t enough for the universe. 

And then he remembered the quidditch match they had agreed to play today. He had been quite looking forward to it. Maybe that would be a good way to get their minds off the bad dreams. 

Once Harry was done getting dressed, he slipped downstairs to cook. While he very much appreciated Narcissa’s overtaking of his kitchen (her cooking was delicious), he missed cooking a bit. He loved cooking with magic, it felt like the biggest  _ fuck you _ to the Dursley’s he would ever manage. Doing something they had forced him to do with a technique they would find so appalling just felt good. 

He waved his wand around and set some eggs cooking, as well as charming the teapot to prepare a pot of English Breakfast tea. As he was about to start on the bacon-

“Oh. I didn’t think anyone would be awake.” 

Harry turned to see Malfoy standing there, pajama pants low on his waist with a white tank top clearly just thrown on as he pulled it down to cover his torso. He scratched at his left forearm. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” Harry said, purposefully not mentioning the nightmare. Would they mention it? Malfoy gave him a knowing look. They both clearly knew what had happened. 

“Me neither.” 

“Bad dream?” Fucking hell. Harry turned back to the eggs to hide his blush, and bit down on his lip. His brain to mouth filter really needed work. Small talk was not his strong suit. 

Malfoy scoffed, and Harry heard him pull out a chair and sit down. “You could say that, yeah.” 

Harry gulped, setting the teapot on the table with two teacups. The pot magically poured their tea, and the mugs were charmed to add the right amount of milk and sugar automatically. “What was it about?”

“You tell me mine, first."

Harry looked Malfoy in the eye, and Malfoy stared right back, mouth set. Nothing would change his mind about this, it was clear. Harry nodded and took a sip of his tea. 

“I saw you get the mark.” 

“I saw your muggles.” 

They both nodded and then deflated, the tension seeping out of the room now that the information was out in the open. So Harry’s fears were true - it had been a Dursley dream. He wasn’t as upset as he expected. If anything, he was slightly relieved that he himself didn’t have to deal with the aftermath of the dream. 

Malfoy took a long drink from his cup, and then set it down in front of him with shaky hands.

“That’s a rough one.” He said, still looking into his mug. Harry felt bad immediately; he knew how it felt to be reminded of such traumas. He didn’t quite like thinking about the Dursley’s either. 

“I’m sure yours wasn’t much better.” 

“It was, ah, quite claustrophobic. I didn’t realize you’d actually grown up in a cupboard.” 

The food finished, Harry plated it and set it on the table. He gulped, sitting down and reaching for his own cup of tea. He took a sip. “Yeah. I didn’t realize you had to swear your life to Voldemort as if you were getting married.” 

Malfoy snorted into his tea, and Harry smirked in response. It was as close to a laugh that he could expect to get in this situation. 

They sat in silence for a few moments, sipping their tea. Knowing that Malfoy had seen his deepest fears changed how he looked at him. He had half expected a jab about how his nightmare had been about the dark and not about something actually scary, like the War. But he hadn’t. Perhaps Malfoy was growing. 

“So, have you packed for Hogwarts yet?” Harry ventured, switching the topic as smoothly as he could think to. 

Malfoy met his eye for the first time since sitting at the table, and smiled. “I’ve been done since Thursday.” 

Harry let out a low whistle. “Overachiever. Typical.” 

“I prefer  _ prepared _ , thank you very much, Potter.” 

“You remind me too much of Hermione sometimes. It’s scary.” 

Malfoy let out an actual laugh at this, and Harry grinned at it. “Me and Granger? No way, Potter!” He continued with a honking laugh into his tea. 

“I’m serious! I think she’s said the same thing before!” He put on a posh accent and imitated Malfoy- “I prefer  _ prepared. _ ” 

Malfoy giggled, a strange sight for Harry but not an unwelcome one. “Oh shut it. I imagine you haven’t even started?” 

Harry took a plate and grabbed a piece of bacon. He took a bite and smirked. “Nope.” He popped the ‘p’.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Of course not. And when do you plan to get that done?”

“Today! I have magic to help me this year so it won’t even matter.” 

“You’ll forget something, I guarantee it. And what about our seekers match?” 

“Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t,” He took another bite of bacon. Malfoy finally reached for a plate. “And I still want to play! Maybe as a break in packing?”

“I won’t be playing with you until you’re finished.”

“Fine, mum.” Harry rolled his eyes with a smile. “But as soon as I’m done.” 

Malfoy nodded, taking a bite of his own food. He swallowed and bit down on his lip. “So, there’s something we need to discuss.” 

The mood shifted immediately back to the serious air from earlier. Harry stopped with a forkful of food halfway to his mouth. “What?” 

“Who knows about us, and who are we going to tell? I’m going into the lion’s den here.” 

Harry had thought about this, of course, when he told Hermione. He didn’t want anyone to know about them while they worked it out. 

“Well, I’ve already told Hermione but that’s it so far. I didn’t have plans to tell anyone else. At least not yet.” 

Malfoy nodded slowly, processing the information. “So what? We’ll ignore each other at school?”

Harry was taken aback. That wasn’t what he wanted at all - if anything he wanted the opposite. But if Malfoy was suggesting it, maybe that’s what he wanted. It would make keeping their situation a secret easier, but it would make growing their bond harder. 

“Well, I mean, if that’s what you want-”

“It’s not. I just assumed, if you weren’t going to tell anyone else-”

“No! No. I just don’t think everyone needs to know you’re my soulmate right away.”

Malfoy nodded again, his face closing off. Harry didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t ready for everyone to know he was gay, let alone that he was with Malfoy. He didn’t think that was unreasonable.

“Well I’m going to tell my friends if they show up.” 

It was Harry who nodded this time. He supposed that it was up to Malfoy who knew when it came to those close to him. Harry was slightly uncomfortable with the idea of the Slytherins knowing before Ron did, but that was his own issue to resolve. “I guess that’s fine.” 

Malfoy’s face fell into a scowl. Harry knew he had said the wrong thing. Again. “You guess? I’m telling them, because unlike you I have no qualms about us being soulmates. Or at least I  _ didn’t _ before this conversation.”

“Qualms? What qualms?”

“You know what I’m talking about. We can each tell whoever we want. I’ll respect that you don’t want it to be public information quite yet, but I can tell my friends if I so choose.”

“That’s what I just said!” 

Malfoy scoffed at him and rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “You said you  _ guess _ it’s alright. You don’t have to give me permission. I wasn’t asking for it.”

“I wasn’t trying to!” 

“Whatever, Potter. Go pack. I’ll see you in the morning. Or, will I? I suppose you’ll want to arrive at the platform separately too.”

“Er-” 

“Just as I thought. Have a good day.” With this he swept out of the room, and Harry saw Narcissa standing in the doorway, glaring at him. Malfoy brushed past her without so much as a ‘good morning.’

“Good morning, Narcissa.” Harry greeted, reaching for his bacon again, solemnly. He couldn’t see what he had done to upset Malfoy so much. They seemed to agree on not telling everybody, but Harry had misspoke so slightly and it blew up. Malfoy was particularly touchy in the mornings, of course, but that didn’t explain his rash reaction.

“Good morning.” Narcissa said, sitting down and starting a plate while her tea poured itself. “Who made breakfast?”

“Er, I did.” 

“Well it looks delicious.” 

“Thank you.” 

Narcissa smiled at him, and took a bite of the food. 

“How much did you hear of that conversation?” 

Narcissa chuckled. “Enough. As much as I hate to admit it, my son can be quite quick to judge sometimes.” 

“Yeah, I noticed.” 

“I unfortunately think he inherited it from me.” 

“No, I wouldn’t say that-” 

“You don’t think it’s a Black trait to pass snap judgements?”

Harry thought back to Sirius’ way of thinking, and the way that he judged the Weasley’s and Snape. He made decisions about people quickly and wasn’t open to them changing without a very, very good reason. 

“I suppose that’s fair.” Harry conceded. Narcissa chuckled. 

“Draco will come around, just give him time. As much as he hates to admit it, he needs things spelled out for him sometimes. You’ll get there.” 

“Sorry but, should you be telling me all of this?” 

“Maybe not. But what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Narcissa winked at him. Actually  _ winked _ at him. He nodded and took a final sip of his tea. The teapot started heading in his direction but he stopped it with a wave. 

“I’ve got to go pack. You have a good morning.” 

“Thank you for breakfast, Harry. Remember to be patient.” 

“I’ll try my best. Thank you for the advice.” 

He headed upstairs. 

~~~~

A few hours later, he was staring at a packed trunk and waving his wand to lock it. He sat down on his bed next to the trunk and sighed. It would be the last time he ever attended Hogwarts, his home. He couldn’t really imagine not going there next September. 

A sharp knock broke through his thoughts. 

He opened the door to Malfoy, standing there in black quidditch leathers. Before he could say anything, Malfoy spoke up.

“For the record, I’m still angry. However I’m also bored, and want to play quidditch. So.” He crossed his arms over his chest as if he was still mad at himself for being at the door.

Harry stood there, dumbfounded. He had never appreciated Malfoy in a quidditch uniform before. And now he was  _ very _ appreciative of it. It hugged the dip of his waist perfectly, and broadcasted his collarbones in a lovely way. And Merlin, his  _ thighs _ -

“Well? Are you done packing? Can we play?” He asked, impatient, glancing past Harry to try and see if he was packed. 

“Uhm, yea. I am.”

“Great. Let’s go. I’m assuming the pitch is in the backyard?”

“Actually it’s in the attic.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows raised in shock and bemusement. 

“Yea, it’s a weird tradition for old wizard families that didn’t have a backyard. Sirius told me all about it once-” He halted when Malfoy raised a hand to stop him. 

“Still mad. I’ll meet you there.” And with that, he turned and walked towards the attic stairs. Another thing Harry had never appreciated correctly - Malfoy’s  _ arse _ in quidditch leathers. He was practically salivating. He picked his jaw off the floor as Malfoy shouted, “And bring brooms!” 

Harry quickly changed into his quidditch leathers. He was sure he didn’t look as striking as Malfoy did. He ran up towards the attic, then slowed down at the top step. He didn’t want to appear too eager. 

Malfoy was examining the brooms on display on the right side of the magically enhanced attic. 

It appeared that they were outside, minus the walls next to the stairs and the ceiling far above them. There were three regulation height hoops on each side, and a wide forest below them for seekers games. It was one of Harry’s favorite rooms in the house, and he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought to bring Malfoy here until now. 

He watched as Malfoy looked around after pulling a broom off of its rack. Harry walked over and pulled his firebolt off while Malfoy walked around, looking up at the stretching ceilings and walls. 

“Wow.” He heard Malfoy whisper, and he chuckled to himself. 

“I know.”   


“I’ve never seen expansion charms like this.” Malfoy turned and made eye contact with him, wonder behind his eyes. 

“Yea. The Blacks didn’t fuck around. Always had the best.”

“I can’t believe Mother never told me about this.” 

“She might not have seen it. It was a bit of a nuclear family secret, according to Sirius. He only showed me despite the whole Order staying here.”

Malfoy nodded, still seemingly in awe of the room they were in. He was holding an old style Nimbus; it was all black except for silver details like the clasp around the bristles and the footrest. It was slightly longer than a typical broom, and matched his uniform perfectly. His eyes traced the edges of the room again and again, looking out into the forest as if waiting for the illusion to disappear.

While Harry wanted to continue watching Malfoy take it all in, he recognized he was being more than a bit creepy, standing there staring at him. So he went back to the wall of supplies and picked up a snitch. When he turned back around, Malfoy was finally looking at him again. 

“Are you finally ready?” He asked, exasperated. Harry smirked as he knew Malfoy was just projecting onto him. He tossed the snitch in the air and it sprouted wings, hovering there for a second. 

It flew in front of a shocked Malfoy’s face, and Harry quickly snatched it back into the palm of his hand. “I don’t know, are you?”

Malfoy smirked this time, and then appeared to remember he was still mad at Harry and tampered it down. “Best of five?”

“Sounds good.” 

They mounted their brooms, and Harry found new appreciation again for Malfoy’s arse in quidditch leathers. On a broom. He was experiencing a lot of new things today with Malfoy, apparently. Waiting to play this seeker’s match until now was a big mistake. 

He had apparently been hesitating for too long, as Malfoy turned on his broom to face him. “Scared, Potter?” He asked, gesturing to the snitch still held tightly in Harry’s palm. 

Harry let out a hearty laugh and then smirked back at Malfoy. “You wish.” And with that he let the snitch go, and they both watched it race into the forest. They waited the customary three seconds before they both took off in the same direction, flying quickly after the small gold speck in front of them. 

Harry lost sight of it quickly as he reached the trees, the evergreens allowing for a lot of cover. He made his way leisurely to the tops of the trees, hovering there in wide circles as he tried to spot a sign of the snitch or of Malfoy. After a few wide circles he started closing in, watching for any movement below him. 

He saw something out of the corner of his eye then, and darted to the right for it. The snitch! It was hovering just below the tree line a few yards from him. He dove for it and it evaded him, weaving through the trees with Harry hot on its tail. He reached out his palm and- 

“YES! I’ve got it Malfoy!” He called, gripping the wiggling snitch tightly. A groan came from somewhere beneath him, and the Malfoy came rising out of the trees to examine the evidence. He flew over quickly, his hands tight on the handle of his broom.

His scowl was more of a pout. “Of course you did.” Malfoy grumbled, flying closer and grabbing the snitch out of Harry’s hand. “You know a seeker’s match is meant to be more of a race, right?”   


A race? Anytime Harry had played seeker’s matches with Oliver he was told it was about training his eye, finding the small gold glint in the spacious field. He told Malfoy as much. 

“Well sure, when you’re training, but when it’s just for fun, it's about speed. Who can get there fastest. Have you ever just played a seekers match for fun?”

“Er, no. Only for quidditch practice with Wood.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Of course. And you had never seen a broom until you were eleven-”

“I had seen a broom!”

Malfoy continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “-so no hope that you played as a child and learned the etiquette.”

“Sorry I wasn’t raised by wizards.”

“I’m just shocked this hasn’t come up sooner.”

“Me too, if I’m honest.”

“Well then let’s go back to the edge of the forest and I’ll show you what to do.” He took off without waiting for a response.

Harry flew down behind him, still holding the snitch. He watched Malfoy land gracefully, walking off his broom with ease. Harry attempted to follow suit, but got distracted as Malfoy stretched his back, exposing a bit of his stomach, and tripped over his own two feet. He sprawled on the ground with his broom floating next to him. 

Malfoy snorted at him. “Rode a broom much, Potter?” 

“Oh, once or twice.” He groaned from the floor, pushing himself up.

“Okay, this time when you let the snitch go we’ll both wait a few moments, then race after it. The goal is to stay as close to it and each other as possible. No pushing or shoving.” Malfoy explained, holding his broom. “Understand?”

“I think so.”

Malfoy gave him a slightly exasperated look and mounted his broom. “I hope so.” 

Harry mounted his broom and then let go of the snitch. They watched it zoom ahead of them, taking off somewhere into the forest. 

“Three, two, one!” Malfoy shouted before taking off on his broom. Harry followed close behind, leaning forward with a tight grip on his broom handle. The firebolt was slightly faster than the broom Malfoy had chosen, but he had gotten a head start on Harry.

Harry did his best not to get distracted by the view in front of him. Malfoy just looked so graceful on a broom - the long lean lines of his body were all on display, and as he twisted to turn his slight curves became even more evident. It was hard not to just sit there and admire what he looked like. 

A glint of gold in the distance brought Harry out of his reverie, and he pushed forward to pass Malfoy as he headed toward the snitch. He watched Malfoy lean forward more as well, gaining speed. The firebolt passed him easily. 

Harry inched in front of Malfoy as the snitch came more into view between the trees. It was darting between them, but Harry was close enough to see its wings, which meant he instinctively started to reach his hand out. One hand extended in front of him, he reached out and pushed forward. 

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malfoy doing the same. He glanced over and saw Malfoy there looking back, eyes torn between him and the snitch. He was transported to Hogwarts in seconds, flying in tandem with Malfoy. He was distinctly reminded of second year, flying against him for the first time. This felt like that, but without the violence and animosity. There was no quidditch cup to win, no Gryffindor pride to be upheld, just two friends playing a pick up game. They were connected here, bodies almost touching, dodging trees together and maneuvering the forest in tandem. 

It was magical. 

Of course, his moment of distraction cost him. Malfoy darted ahead and scooped up the snitch, lifting it high in the air. 

“Ha! I beat you Potter! I did it!” He gloated, floating there in the air holding the snitch out. Harry could do nothing but smile. He was upset, sure, and wouldn’t make the same mistake again, but he could let Malfoy have his win. He had never had one against him before, of course. 

“Good game, Malfoy.” He conceded. Malfoy’s face dropped and his eyes narrowed. 

“You didn’t let me win, did you?” He questioned. 

“No! Why would I?”

‘You seem too happy to lose, is all.”

“Maybe I’m just happy.” 

“Well, don’t be. I’m still mad at you, remember?”

Harry had almost forgotten. With that, Malfoy zoomed out of the forest and back towards the equipment wall. Harry sighed and turned to follow him. 

The next two games went similarly, quick races to the snitch and the only thing that mattered was speed and focus. Harry won them both easily, much to Malfoy’s chagrin. After the second match they landed back at the equipment and Harry managed to get off his broom as gracefully as Malfoy did. 

“So that’s it, you win.” Malfoy said, arms crossed over his chest. “Best of five, yeah?”

Harry hadn’t thought of that. He had wanted to win, but more than that he wanted to keep playing with Malfoy. There was something special in the way they flew together. He never wanted it to end. But now his penchant for winning meant it was over sooner than it needed to be. 

Malfoy was already peeling off his elbow pads, but Harry couldn’t get distracted again. 

“Wait! What if we play the last game anyway? Just for fun?” 

Malfoy’s eyebrows raised as he turned to face Harry again, “For fun?”

“Well, wasn’t this fun?”

“I simply wanted to beat you, Potter.” He claimed, but a twinge of his mouth gave him away. He had been having just as much fun as Harry. 

“Well I wanted to have fun. So let’s keep doing that.”

“If I win this round, I win the whole thing.”

“All or nothing Malfoy, really?”   


“I need incentive to play.” Malfoy said, but he was already putting his elbow pads back on. 

“Fine. All or nothing.” Harry agreed, mounting his broom. He tossed the snitch to Malfoy. “You can release it this time.”

Malfoy caught it with ease and then mounted his own broom. He let the snitch go, and counted to three. They were off. 

This time the snitch veered a hard right into the forest, a direction it hadn’t yet gone. Malfoy was slightly ahead as they hit the trees, Harry about a broom’s length behind him. He stayed close on his tail as they followed the snitch. 

Pushing forward, Harry took the lead. He wondered suddenly how he looked on a broom. Surely not as good as Malfoy did. His body was too broad to look so elegant while flying. His leathers were also borrowed from Ron so they were a bit too long in places they shouldn’t be. 

He followed the snitch closely, weaving through the evergreens, Malfoy right behind him the whole time. He wondered about his own arse - wondered if Malfoy had taken note of it the way Harry had noted his. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, he leaned forward further, trying to gain speed. 

“Ha!” He heard, and then saw Malfoy pull up next to him on the left. “I’m so going to win.” He said, pushing forward. 

“Sure, Malfoy!” Harry replied, self-consciousness gone as he was filled with a desire to win. He shifted his weight to the front of the broom, lining up with Malfoy in the air so they were directly next to each other. 

The snitch was almost within reach, and they both reached out their hands. Harry his right and Malfoy his left, so their arms were brushing in the air. The snitch took a sudden dive down towards the ground, and they both followed quickly.

Harry pushed with everything he had to get ahead of Malfoy but it didn’t seem to work, Malfoy kept up with him. Their fingers brushed over the metal ball and each other’s, and then suddenly the ground was in front of them. 

Harry hit the ground first, grateful for the soft grass, but Malfoy fell on top of him, brooms floating next to them. Malfoy was straddling him on the forest floor, holding the snitch in front of him. 

“I did it! Potter, I beat you!” He proclaimed, a smile spreading across his face. He was glowing with pride. Harry stared up at him for a second too long, as Malfoy noticed and looked down at him. “What? Speechless are you?” 

“Yea. I can’t believe it.” Harry said. He knew how it sounded, breathy and fond. He was in awe of the man above him, he couldn’t believe how beautiful he was. Malfoy quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“What’s wrong with you? It’s not as fun to win if you don’t care.” Malfoy complained. Harry tried to shake himself out of it, but nothing could shake the overwhelming feelings off his mind. All he wanted was to kiss Malfoy. 

He sat up, not knocking Malfoy off his lap, held up by his arms behind him, and they were so close. It wouldn’t take much to close the distance between them. Harry glanced down at Malfoy’s lips. 

“I do care. Just. Not about winning.” Harry confessed, reaching an arm up to hold Malfoy’s waist. He looked in his bright, confused eyes. “Can I kiss you?” 

Malfoy was clearly shocked. His mouth dropped open, and he shifted backwards. Harry held his waist tightly. “What?”

He shut his eyes and bit his lip. God, why couldn’t he stop fucking this up? It was obviously too soon for this, Malfoy didn’t have those feelings for him, they had fought just this morning for Merlin’s sake-

He was cut off of his racing thoughts by a kiss pressed to his cheek. He opened his eyes and met Malfoy’s, who seemed just as surprised as he was at the turn of events. 

“I’m still mad at y-” Harry cut him off by pressing their lips together. He held Malfoy’s waist and rubbed his skin with his thumb. Malfoy’s cold hands came up and rested on his cheeks, holding his head in place as their lips connected over and over. Tired of holding himself up, Harry let himself fall back against the grass, pulling Malfoy with him. 

He put his other hand on the back of Malfoy’s neck and pulled them closer together. Harry licked at the seam of his lips, and they parted slowly. Their tongues rubbed together, breath mixing. Malfoy tasted like the mint leftover from a breath charm, mixed with something Harry couldn’t place, that was distinctly  _ Malfoy _ . It was quickly his favorite taste. 

They separated for breath, and Harry risked a glance up at Malfoy. 

“I’m still mad at you.” Malfoy finished, breathily. 

“Uh huh.”

“I swear.”

“I believe you.”

“Okay.” Malfoy leaned back in for another kiss. 

~~~~

The next morning he ran through the list in his head to make sure he had everything.  _ Books, quills, robes, hat, etc. _ He had everything he could think of to bring. 

Yesterday had been like a dream, but today was back to reality. He and Malfoy had spent a few hours kissing on the quidditch pitch, intercut with random seekers matches that Harry won. (Which made Malfoy kiss him harsher, more bitey. Harry didn’t mind it.) Today though, they would go back to Hogwarts and face other people. Harry wasn’t completely sure how that made him feel. Nervous, for sure. But the apprehension was laced with something else that felt closer to fear. Fear of losing Malfoy.

It wasn’t a feeling he was used to. 

He glanced at the empty bird cage in the corner of his room. He didn’t look at it or think about it for too long. It would be the first time he attended Hogwarts without an owl. 

It was rare he let himself miss Hedwig. Her death seemed silly to mourn in the face of real deaths like Fred or Mad-Eye. But he still missed her, and couldn’t imagine going to Hogwarts without her. He couldn’t imagine replacing her either, though. It was painful to think what was at one point his one connection to the wizarding world was gone. 

There was a knock on his door. He opened it, tucking his wand behind his ear for a moment. 

Malfoy stood there, dressed to the nines in blue robes. Harry immediately felt underdressed in his casual jeans and t-shirt. He looked down at himself, questioning his fashion choices. He then noticed Malfoy’s stature. His arms were crossed and his mouth was set in a hard line. 

“We’re heading to London. The ministry gave my mother special permission to go to King’s Cross but we must be accompanied, so someone will be here to escort us. I thought I’d inform you. Goodbye.” He turned to leave. 

“Wait!” Malfoy stopped and faced him again. 

“What?"

“I’ll meet you there? Maybe we can share a compartment on the train.” 

“I thought you didn’t want anyone to know about us.” 

“I’ll figure it out.” Harry said. He could explain to Ron that he wanted to build bridges after the war, or something. But he didn’t want to just ignore Malfoy’s presence at Hogwarts. 

Malfoy rolled his eyes again. “I’m sure you will. Whatever, Potter. I’ll see you there.” 

“See you?” Harry was confused again as to what he had done wrong. Malfoy was so hot and cold these days. Nothing Harry did seemed to be right. 

He shrunk his trunk to fit in his pocket and tucked his wand into its holster on his hip. He spun in place and landed outside Kings Cross station. 


	5. Draco

The platform was full of people. Draco and Narcissa tried to keep their heads down, but the press caught on quite quickly to who was there with an Auror flank. They were suddenly swarmed with them, reporters on every side. 

“Do you think you deserve to return to Hogwarts?"

“How do you think your father is doing?”

“How do you think you’ll be received at Hogwarts?”   


“Where have you been living the past month since the trials?”

Draco pushed through, Narcissa close behind. As it became clear they wouldn’t be answering questions, the reporters moved back to the people they were interviewing before, a forlorn looking Granger and Weasley. 

The rest of the platform was silent, staring at the two of them. Draco held his head high as he walked, not allowing their stares to penetrate his thoughts. He was quite consumed by them, anyway. 

Why had he kissed Potter yesterday? He should not have let that happen. He should never have gone to his room for the quidditch match. He should’ve let their fight hang in the air as he had intended, let Potter understand what he had done wrong. But no. He was weak, and Potter made him that way. 

The way Potter looked at him made him that way. 

Especially when they had been laying there after racing for the snitch, after he had finally  _ finally _ beat him, Potter had looked up at him with a sense of... of awe. Admiration. Things Draco never expected to see from Potter. Things he had only imagined in his deepest dreams. So when Potter asked that question, almost a whisper,  _ “Can I kiss you?” _ it was like all of his biggest dreams had come true. He was helpless to say no. 

Despite all of this, he was still incredibly upset with Potter. He was clearly embarrassed of their relationship (what little one they had) and wanted to keep it hidden away. He did understand this, who would want to be publicly seen with him? Especially Potter, the wizarding world’s own boy hero. He would never want to have to face the press about dating an ex-Death Eater. But then he couldn’t be asking ``  _ Can I kiss you? _ and staring at him fondly. He had to make a decision, or Draco would go certifiably insane. 

So he was still mad at Potter. Very mad. He was also scared to death of returning to Hogwarts. 

He had no idea what waited for him there, what horrors or brutal reminders of the year past. He knew he wouldn’t be well received by his peers, and could only imagine what some people would say or do to him. He knew that the papers would say. He knew he could handle the abuse, knew he deserved it. But it didn’t mean he was ready for it. It felt only slightly less terrifying than returning to Azkaban. 

As they reached the train, he turned to give his mother a hug. Her arms wrapped around his neck tightly. 

“I believe in you, Draco. You are so brave for going back there. I know you can make it. No matter what people throw at you,” she said into his ear. She leaned back and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Then she gripped both of them and touched their foreheads together. “You are the bravest man I know.”

“Thank you, mother,” Draco replied around a lump in his throat. He didn’t want to leave her, all alone in Grimmauld. He wondered if it was too late to change his mind about going. “You’re one of the strongest people I think I’ll ever know.” He whispered. 

“Go. You can do this.” She said, and with a kiss on his forehead she pushed him towards the train. 

He boarded, wiping tears from his eyes, and was immediately bombarded by the last person he wanted to see, Potter. 

“Malfoy!” He called out. 

Draco winced, and tried to put on a brave face that didn’t look like he had just been crying when he turned around. “Potter.” 

“I have a compartment here.” Potter offered. Draco raised an eyebrow. 

“Do you?” 

“I just said-” 

Draco didn’t wait for his response, “Well Pansy sent me a letter that I received from the auror this morning so I’m going to meet her.” It was the truth, but only half of it. Pansy had sent him a letter but it had said nothing about meeting on the train, just a quick hello and that her and Blaise were both returning to Hogwarts. He simply hoped he could meet with them as they used to. 

“Oh, er, okay.” The disappointment was evident in his voice.  Did he want people to know about them or not? Potter could not seem to make up his mind. 

Draco turned and left him to his own devices. He moved through the train quickly, not making eye contact with anyone if he could avoid it. The few he couldn’t avoid averted their eyes with haste, clearly not wanting to look at him anymore than he wanted to look at them. He made his way to the last car of the train, where Slytherins usually reside, and started looking in the compartments. Most of the Slytherins still averted their eyes, surprisingly. He swallowed a lump in his throat. This was going to be a lonely year. 

Finally he came across Pansy and Blaise, in a compartment all the way in the back of the car. He knocked on the door. 

The door slid open and revealed a shocked Pansy. She simply raised an eyebrow at him.    


“Er. Hello. Can I sit here?” Draco asked, suddenly nervous that she would say no. Maybe her and Blaise had decided it would be better for their reputation to ignore him. 

“After a full summer of no letters? You better be sitting with us,” Pansy said, stepping back to allow him into the compartment. He breathed a sigh of relief and stepped inside. 

“Blaise.” He greeted, nodding. 

“Draco.”

“Pansy.” Pansy said, with an eye roll. “Forget formalities. The war is over, no need to act as if we’re still walking on eggshells around each other.”

Blaise and Draco shared a look of exasperation. Pansy had always been blunt, and apparently the war had changed none of that. Last year had been difficult on all of them, with the pressures of the war taking Draco out of school after Christmas holidays, and no contact between them while the war was going on. Draco had done his best to protect the few friends he had who weren’t already roped into the horrors of Voldemort. Sometimes that meant cutting them off. He had become cold and distant towards Blaise and Pansy during the war, not only for their sake but for his. He couldn’t bear it if he was responsible for them getting hurt or falling further into the war than necessary. 

The shared look did not go unnoticed by Pansy. “I’m serious! We can be friends again. Like it was before, well, you know.”

“Before I took the mark?” Draco offered, sitting down across from Blaise. He tried to make it as light hearted as possible. 

“I was talking about before Voldemort took over, but sure, that too,” Pansy said with a pout, sitting next to Blaise. Blaise smirked at Draco. 

“So how was your summer?” Blaise asked.

“You mean other than the three months spent in Azkaban?” Draco said. Both of them glared at him.    


“Yes, obviously. I’m sure those were absolutely lovely, but I’m more curious about where you’ve been since. All the papers have been speculating since you and your mother dropped off the face of the earth directly following your sentencing.” Pansy said. 

Draco didn’t realize his whereabouts were a topic that anyone would be interested in. He hadn’t seen the paper since he got out, he assumed Potter didn’t subscribe to the Prophet for obvious reasons. The only paper that he had seen Potter with was Witch Weekly, and he had never mentioned anything about Draco’s name being dropped there. 

“What have the paper’s been saying?”   


“You haven’t seen?” Pansy asked, shocked. “All sorts! One article from the Prophet implied you had gone into hiding to form a plot to break your father out of Azkaban,” Draco snorted, “I know, as if. The craziest one was from the Quibbler, they tried to imply you had moved in with Potter and had been hiding a sordid love affair, since he apparently went missing around the same time you did.” She said with a snort. Blaise laughed along with her at this seemingly incredulous implication.

Draco gulped. If one publication had picked up on it, then it would only be a certain amount of time until others did. Even if the Quibbler wasn’t the most respected publication, it only took one article to blow their cover. Potter would be so mad.

“Draco? Isn’t that funny?” Blaise asked, noticing how quiet he was. 

“Er, well. I’ve been meaning to tell you-”

Pansy stopped laughing and looked at him directly. “Tell us what?”

“Potter is my soulmate.” 

The two of them went slack jawed for a moment. Then Pansy smirked. “I knew there was something there. He was way too into you when we were in Hogwarts. He claimed it was because he thought you were a death eater-”

“Which I was.”

“-but I  _ knew _ there was something else.” 

“Sure you did, Pans.” Draco rolled his eyes. “I had no clue, but you knew my future. You’re a seer!"

“You know what I mean! There was something fishy about how he followed you around.” 

“To be fair, Draco. You never shut up about him.” Blaise added. 

“I- What?” Draco had certainly come to terms with the fact that Potter was a huge part of his life from when they were young, and that them being soulmates made some sense because of it. However, he didn’t think he had ever done anything for other people to have caught on to that fact. 

“Oh like you don’t know. It’s always been Potter this, Potter that. Everything when we were in school revolved around Potter.” Pansy said. 

“I didn’t do that!” Draco’s voice was higher pitched than he liked to admit it could get. He coughed to clear his throat. 

“Yes you did, Draco. Remember the yule ball? I was meant to be your date and you spent the whole night going on about how  _ unfair _ it was that Potter got a special dance, how  _ terrible _ he was at dancing, how you wished he would just be kicked out of the tournament. It was all you talked about all night.” Pansy explained.

“Well I-”

“Or the time in second year where you spent the entire train ride complaining about how Potter had foiled your father’s plans.” Blaise added. 

“Well that was completely justified. He  _ had _ ruined father’s plans which meant hell for me at home-”

“We know.” They both groaned. 

“All I know is anytime I talked about Potter in the past I’m sure it was justified.”

“How about the time during sixth year where you got drunk and waxed poetic about his eyes?  _ Green as the grass my peacocks poo on/why must he always hang out with that Ron _ ?” Pansy interjected. 

“Now you’re just making shit up.” 

“Well I don’t remember exactly what you said but it was something along those lines.” She waved a hand in dismissal.

“I never waxed  _ any _ poetic about Potter’s eyes.” Draco defended himself, at least not until recently he had never written poetry about Potter’s anything. 

“Hate to say it, mate, but you did. Figured it was a one night of weakness but apparently not.” Blaise commented, not helping Draco’s case at all. 

“Well that was a one time thing,” Draco grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I was expecting you guys to be shocked.” 

“Nothing about you can shock us, Draco.” Pansy said, reaching over and roughing up his hair. “We’ve known you too well for too long.”

“Well the rumors are true. I’ve been staying with him. Mother as well.” Draco finally explained, ready to move on from his supposed years of pining that definitely did not happen. 

“Interesting. That’s quite fast, even for soulmates.” Blaise commented. 

“Yeah well. It’s not like we had anywhere else to go, the ministry seized the manor.”

Both of them sighed and nodded. Pansy bit her lip in a sympathetic frown. “We heard,” Blaise said. 

“Grimmauld Place isn’t too bad. The house elf there loves my mother and I because we are ‘true blacks’.” He almost went on to mention the impressive quidditch pitch in the attic, but stopped himself. Something about it felt too personal to share. 

“So have you snogged yet?” Pansy asked, wiggling her eyebrows. Draco felt his face flush before he could help it. He gulped. 

“Er, well...”

“You have!” Pansy exclaimed. “Draco’s snogged the Saviour!” 

Blaise rolled his eyes and nudged her with his elbow. “Calm down, please.”

“It was just once and it won’t be happening again any time soon.” Draco elaborated, face still hot with an embarrassed blush. 

“Aw, why not?” Pansy whined. 

“Because he’s embarrassed of me.” Draco grumbled. 

Pansy’s eyebrows shot up and her mouth set into a hard line. Blaise sat up straighter in his seat. “And what gives you that impression?” Pansy asked. 

“He doesn’t want to tell anybody that we’re soulmates. And he tried to act like he had to give me permission to even tell the two of you.” Draco rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Not that I want to broadcast it to the world, but I don’t know how he expects us to be able to interact here if everyone still thinks we’re sworn enemies.” 

Blaise nodded his head, but Pansy clenched her fists. “He should want to shout it from the rooftops. You’re a goddamn catch.”   


“Be reasonable. I’m an ex-Death Eater and he’s the fucking Chosen One. We are not compatible. Not publicly.” Draco argued. He clenched his teeth, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“He should be taking every opportunity to defend you! To hold you up! Not hiding you away like some dirty little secret.” Pansy argued. 

“Don’t you think I know that? I’m incredibly mad at him and I never should have kissed him because now he thinks we’re okay or something. He invited me into his compartment when I got on the train,” Draco scoffed. Blaise sat up further. 

Pansy huffed. “Honestly, the audacity of him-”

“Have you considered that was a good thing?” Blaise interrupted. “You know, some kind of olive branch? And he clearly doesn’t expect you two to just ignore each other in public if he was willing to share a compartment.”

“Well. No. I hadn’t thought of it that way. But I honestly just think he’s delusional. How are we meant to hang out if we don’t tell anybody we’re soulmates? What would people think? He can’t have both.” 

“Maybe you could just say it’s in an effort to leave the war behind.” 

Pansy was suspiciously quiet now, letting Blaise talk. She seemed convinced by his logic. Draco was not. Sure, there were things they could tell other people, but then what? They just organically started dating? Eventually the truth would come out. Eventually the world would know. Potter was just postponing the inevitable because he was scared of what people would think. 

“Like anyone would buy that from me. They’d assume I was just using him to fix my reputation.” There was that, too. Anybody in their right mind would see Draco Malfoy befriending Harry Potter as a politically charged move, something that was meant to benefit only him. 

“Who cares? If people think that they think that. You’re a Slytherin, use these things to your advantage. Go back to his compartment now and extend an olive branch. You can set the precedent that you’re ready to move on from the war, and no one will question it later.” Blaise continued. 

Pansy, the traitor, nodded. “I do think that’s a good idea. Doesn’t mean you aren’t still mad at him for keeping you a secret, though.” Blaise rolled his eyes at her. 

Draco thought it over. He supposed now would be as good a time as any to start something publicly, sure that the compartment Harry had was now crawling with Gryffindors who would witness his offering of peace. Perhaps Blaise was right, he could do this and not care what anybody thought of his intentions, but he was at least certain that Potter would know his intentions were purely for the two of them. (Although the boost to his reputation wasn’t something that he would ever say he didn’t appreciate.)

“Okay, fine. I’ll do it. But only because I know I’ll never hear the end of it from you two if I don’t.”

Pansy gave him an eye roll and Blaise just smirked at him. “Go get him, tiger.” Pansy said. 

“Or should you say lion?” Blaise commented as Draco exited the compartment. 

The moment he was in the corridor his nerves set in. Walking back down the now moving train was an effort in self restraint, as he tried not to glare at everyone who stared at him as he passed their compartments. 

Finally he reached Potter’s. It was full of people, far more than should be able to fit in one compartment on the train. One of Granger’s extension charms, he presumed. All of them were lions, except the bright blond hair of Luna Lovegood, who had been held prisoner in his house. He was going into a group of people who would accept him lovingly, he was sure.

He knocked on the compartment door. 

Someone opened it, possibly Longbottom, who was sitting closest to it, but it could have been anyone in the compartment as it didn’t appear anyone had moved. He was faced with two Weasley’s, Granger, Lovegood, Longbottom, and finally Potter, who sat in the farthest corner from the door. He gulped. They all stared at him. 

The looks on their faces told him this was a bad idea. 

“Erm. Hello.” He greeted. They all continued to stare at him with shocked looks, except for Luna, who smiled at him cheerfully. 

“Hello, Draco.” She said. Granger raised an eyebrow at her and then fixed him with a scrutinizing look. Potter was still clearly in shock. 

“I, er. I just came to say that I want to start building bridges. I don’t think any of us need to enemies anymore, now that the Dark Lord is gone-”

“As long as you call him the Dark Lord we’re going to have problems, Malfoy.” Weasley spoke up, a look of pure anger on his face. Granger placed a hand on his arm to try and calm him down. He glared at her. 

“Sorry. My mistake. Getting used to saying the name still, is all. Now that  _ Voldemort _ is gone I don’t see us having any reason to stay enemies, or antagonize each other. I thought I would start by coming here to offer my friendship.” Draco stated, then gulped again. Potter was staring at him as if he had grown two heads. 

Longbottom snorted. “We still have every reason not to like you, Malfoy.” Draco was taken aback by his confidence, and bit down on his lip as he felt his face flush. This had been a very bad idea, indeed. 

He turned to go. “Perhaps this wasn’t-”

“Malfoy, wait!” Potter called, finally breaking out of his shocked stupor. Draco turned back to face him. The rest of the compartment seemed just as shocked as he was at this outburst. Except maybe for Luna, who had a placidly knowing grin on her face. “I would be glad to try and be your, erm, your friend. Now.”

At this, all eyebrows in the compartment raised. Draco beamed. At least he and Potter could interact. He could leave now and Potter could explain to the rest of them in whatever way he wanted why he’d had such a change of heart, but Draco had what he wanted. A little bit of Potter’s attention. 

Fuck, no. He had vindication. They wouldn’t be ignoring each other as if they weren’t soulmates. They would be able to interact and continue being friends, maybe more, eventually. Draco was still mad at Potter and his attention meant nothing to him. 

“Thank you, Potter. I appreciate it.” He extended a hand past the watchful eyes of the small crowd they had, and Potter took it with a small smile of his own. 

It felt like the universe righting itself, that handshake. A replica of the rejected one from their first year. Draco held it a bit too long and quickly moved back when Granger coughed into her fist. 

“Well I’ll be off. Just wanted to try a little bit of this humility thing while I had the chance. See you all at the castle.” He left them, and breathed a sigh of relief when the compartment door slid shut behind him. He could hear the uproar coming from it and was glad he wasn’t the one on the receiving end.

~~~~

Being back in the Great Hall was surreal. Draco’s palms were sweaty and he kept rubbing them on his robes so he wouldn’t drop his fork. He was sitting at the very end of the Slytherin table with Pansy across from him and Blaise next to him. Everyone else was at least three seats down from the three of them. The table was emptier than it ever had been, a lot of Slytherin students had clearly chosen not to return to Hogwarts this year. There was still such a stigma surrounding their house and its allegiance to Voldemort. 

They all ate and were merry, enjoying their time being back at school. There was a bit of a heavy air around though, as the last time any of them had been in this room there had been dead bodies all around. Draco couldn’t quite shake the cold that settled in him from this room. It was quite weird, seeing the castle back in pristine condition as if nothing had happened. 

He kept catching Potter’s eye across the room. 

As the meal came to a close, he caught Potter’s eye again and sent him a smirk. Potter flushed slightly and glanced away. Remembering he was meant to be mad at him, Draco scowled into his dessert. 

Suddenly the food in front of him vanished and a hush fell over the Hall. 

McGonagall stepped up to the podium and cast a  _ sonorus _ . Her voice boomed through the hall. 

“Welcome everyone. I am so excited to have you all back for this year at Hogwarts. I am also very excited to welcome a very special group of students that are here for this year only. This group of students were unable to complete their education last year, and have returned for a one time offered Eighth Year here at Hogwarts.” Her gaze turned from table to table, looking at the students that were sitting there. 

“These students will have their own common room as they are all of age, and will be permitted to live with their soulmates. Any student not living with their soulmate will be randomly assigned a roommate tonight. They will follow the class schedules of the seventh years from their respective houses. Not only do I expect all of them to be an example to the rest of you, I expect the rest of you to respect them as such.” 

Draco’s stomach fell to the floor. A randomly assigned roommate? He couldn’t risk sleeping in a room with someone like Weasley, or Merlin forbid Longbottom. He wouldn’t survive it. His nightmares would be unbearable in the presence of someone like that. But he knew there wouldn’t be another option without telling everybody about his and Harry’s situation. 

Fucking hell. What were the chances he randomly got assigned Blaise?

He looked across at Pansy, who’s eyebrows were raised. Blaise coughed next to him and then whispered, “Do you think that’ll be safe for Slytherins?”

McGonagall was still talking about the general rules of the school as Draco whispered back, “I don’t know. But I don’t want to risk the chances of rooming with a Lion.” 

“You could always live with Potter if he got his head out of his arse.” Pansy added. 

Draco considered this. If Potter and him were willing to tell people about how they were soulmates, they could live together and he wouldn’t have to worry about any of it. He glanced over at Potter, who happened to be staring back at him. 

At that moment, McGonagall finished her speech and dismissed the crowd. As everyone hustled around them, he and Potter kept eye contact. They crossed paths at the door, bumping elbows in what could’ve been perceived as an accident but Draco knew better. Potter grabbed him by the arm and pulled him into a random classroom right outside the Great Hall. 

“What do you want?” Draco asked.

“I just wanted to see how you’re feeling about the whole rooming situation,” Potter said, biting his lip, looking towards the door. He was clearly regretting pulling Draco to the side. 

“Well, to be honest, I’m not looking forward to sharing a room with someone random as most of the other students in our year hate me. As witnessed on the train this morning.” Draco explained. 

Potter sighed, running his hands through his hair and messing it up more than it already was. “Yeah, I understand.”

They both stood there, looking at each other for a moment. Draco pursed his lips, thinking about Blaise’s comment from earlier. If he and Potter could just tell people they’re soulmates, then this wouldn’t be a problem he had to deal with. Maybe this was a good enough reason to convince him of that. 

“Do you?” Draco asked, arching an eyebrow. “Anybody here would bend over backward to room with you.”

“I don’t like that idea any more than you do,” Harry protested. 

“If only  _ someone _ wasn’t too scared to tell people about us. Then we could live together.” 

“Scared? I’m not-” Potter inhaled deeply, collecting himself. Draco kept his stance firm. He wouldn’t let Potter get away with this embarrassment ploy again. “You know what? Whatever. Think that. I’m not  _ scared _ .” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “But anyway, maybe I can talk to McGonagall. I could tell her we’re soulmates and then we could room together without everyone needing to know.”

“Sounds like more fear to me.” Draco grumbled. He was happy, though, that Potter was offering to room with him. Even if Potter was still being cowardly about it. 

“Do you want to room together or not?” Potter asked, exasperated. 

“Fine. But this just made me  _ more _ mad at you, for the record.” Draco said, arms still crossed over his chest. Potter sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. 

“Whatever, Malfoy. I’ll go talk to McGonagall. You can be mad at me all you want, it won’t change my mind. I need  _ time _ .” 

“Whatever. I don’t care. Just speak to McGonagall.” Draco went for the door. Potter grabbed his shoulder as he tried to brush past.    


“Seriously. I just need time.” 

“Well you have it.” Draco said, pulling away harshly and leaving the room. 

~~~~

There was only one bed. 

Evidently, Potter had made good on his offer to speak to McGonagall, and their names were listed together on the random assignment posting. Only the two of them knew that it wasn’t random. Everyone was in an uproar, especially Weasley. Blaise raised an eyebrow at him and then pretended to be outraged on Draco’s behalf. The Eighth Year common room was shaping up to be a warm, inviting place. There were about as many fights as one would expect when these groups were shoved together. Which was many. 

Merlin, even the Hufflepuffs had gotten involved, claiming it was a travesty that Potter be forced into this horrible situation. One Zacharias Smith was particularly outraged, glaring daggers at Draco on Potter’s behalf for the entirety of the night. Potter eventually had stuck up for himself, saying he was happy to share with Draco and bridge the gaps between their houses. Potter was the martyr once again. 

But that was all in the past now, and they were standing in their new room, furthest to the right of the randomly assigned rooms, and there was only one large bed in the middle of it. 

“I’m not sleeping on the floor.” Draco immediately said, worried that’s what Potter might suggest. 

“Don’t be silly.” Potter scolded, rolling his eyes. “We’ll just have to share.” 

“You’re really comfortable with sharing a bed with me?” 

“Malfoy.” Potter said, exasperated. Draco crossed his arms over his chest. He supposed it made sense. They had kissed, and Potter had initiated. But Draco still found it hard to believe that Potter was that comfortable around him. He could be attracted to him and still not  _ trust _ Draco. 

“Potter.” He said with a sneer. 

“Why would you think I have a problem with this?” 

“Maybe  _ I _ have a problem with it.” Draco sniffed. 

“Do you? I can probably transfigure something into another bed-”

“Oh stop it. Your transfiguration skills are not up to par to make a comfortable bed. I get the left side.” Draco said, uncrossing his arms and not looking at Potter. It was true, of course. Potter would have been sleeping on the most uncomfortable bed that had ever been made, most likely. He moved to the left side of the bed and took his shrunken trunk out of his pocket, turning it back to regular size to unpack it into the wardrobe on that side of the bed. He heard Potter puttering around doing the same thing. 

Once he was unpacked he changed into his pajamas, trying not to think about the fact that Potter was in the room with him. They had their own bathroom, but he knew that would set a precedent Draco didn’t want, that would mean not changing in his own bedroom. He would just have to deal with Potter possibly looking at him when he changed. 

He slept in a silk button down shirt and boxers. When he turned around to face the room, Potter was standing in just his boxers, moving to get into bed. 

Draco inhaled tightly, the sight a bit too much for him to handle. He felt a blush raise up his neck to his cheeks as he tried not to give Potter a once over. The lines of his body were well defined. The scar on his chest stood out against his smooth dark skin, and his muscles formed a delicious ‘v’ that trailed down below the line of his pants. Draco turned around again, messing with his dresser like he was looking for something. He bent over and opened a drawer and then closed it again. He turned back around only when he was sure Potter would be in bed. 

And he was. He was laying there, just looking at Draco. There was something in his eyes that seemed almost fond, almost endeared. Something Draco had seen before, but subdued. Draco coughed to clear his throat and slid into bed beside him, trying to ignore the look Potter was giving him. He rolled onto his side facing away from Potter, staring at the wall. 

He didn’t notice the small vial on Potter’s nightstand that read  _ My Soulmate _ .    
  
“Can you turn out the lights?” Draco asked, not wanting to reach for his wand on the bedside table. 

Potter cast a quick  _ nox _ and then Draco felt him roll over as well. He tried not to think about the look he had given before they both went to bed. 

~~~~

Draco woke up wrapped around Potter for the third time in a row. He moved away and out of bed before Potter could notice. He refused to think about how he continually slept better with Potter than he ever did alone. It wasn’t a healthy thought to have about someone he was still mad at. 

And mad he was. They hadn’t spoken, other than mild platitudes, since the day they had chosen to share a room. A big reason for that was Draco’s own avoidance of their bedroom except for at night to sleep. He had spent all day everyday with Pansy and Blaise, who had been assigned to room with Padma Patil and Neville Longbottom respectively, so they were also inclined to spend as much time out of their rooms as possible. Draco was completely caught up with his school work and had taken to reading for pleasure in the library until curfew. 

Today, however, was the first day the Gryffindors and Slytherins had class together, so Draco would be unable to avoid Potter for the entire day. They had potions together after lunch, and Draco was not looking forward to it. 

The rest of the day moved by quickly. Herbology in the morning with the Ravenclaws was uneventful, and lunch was nothing special. 

Then came Potions. 

At the start of class they were all placed in their partners by Slughorn, done alphabetically. Potter and Malfoy were right next to each other, apparently, so the two of them were partners. 

“Don’t fuck this up for me, Potter.” Draco said as they sat next to each other. 

“I won’t. Slughorn loves me,” Potter protested with a scoff. Draco rolled his eyes and faced back to the class. 

Slughorn stood at the front of the class as if he hadn’t just ruined Draco’s life. “Today we’ll be attempting one of the hardest potions to make, the polyjuice potion.”

Granger’s hand was immediately in the air. She was paired with Justin Finch-Fletchley. Draco felt slightly bad for the bloke. 

Slughorn called on her. “Yes, Ms. Granger?”

“Isn’t that potion illegal?”

“It is a controlled substance by the ministry, yes, but as it is so difficult to brew they have given special permission for me to teach it to you all as a true test of your potions prowess. It also will take us a few weeks to brew! So don’t expect results today.” 

Draco set about setting up their cauldron and other supplies whilst Potter just stood there, biting his lip and watching. 

“Er. Do you need any help?” Potter asked. Draco rolled his eyes again. 

“No, I suppose not, but you could make yourself useful and get our ingredients.” Draco said. Potter sighed but left to go to the supply cupboard. He came back and lined up the viles he had collected on the edge of the table where Draco had laid out their utensils. 

Draco looked through the viles quickly.    
  
“Potter.”

“Yes?” Potter seemed slightly eager to help. 

“Those are lacewing fly wings. We want the whole flies.” Potter’s face fell, and he picked up the vile to examine the ingredient in it. 

“Damnit.”

“What happened to all that potions knowledge from sixth year, huh?” Draco teased, organizing the remaining correct ingredients in alphabetical order. He had very specific ways he liked his potions station set up. He supposed one good thing about being paired with someone as incompetant as Potter was he wouldn’t argue with him over their set up. 

Potter blushed and sputtered, trying to answer Draco’s question. “I-er. I don’t know.” He was clearly lying. Draco narrowed his eyes. 

“Sure you don’t.” 

“I don’t!” Potter protested. 

“Mmhmm. I believe you.” Draco smirked. “Go get the flies.” 

Potter sputtered again but stopped protesting and went to get the correct ingredient. Throughout the rest of the class, Potter kept getting in the way while Draco was attempting to start their potion. He asked too many questions, cut the flies the wrong way, and even managed to fuck up powdering the bicorn horn. 

The final straw came when Potter cut his finger whilst trying to shred the boomslang skin. 

“ _ Episkey _ !” Draco said quickly, grabbing Potter’s hand. He managed to heal the cut before the blood dripped on any of the ingredients, and he exhaled a loud sigh. Then he realized he was still holding onto Potter’s hand. Potter was staring back at him when he looked up. Draco dropped his hand quickly. 

“You’re shite at potions.” He said. Potter burst out in laughter. 

“I suppose I am.” 

“I won’t have you fucking up this grade for me. Just stay out of my way.” Draco snapped, pushing Potter to the side and settling in front of the cauldron. It was at that moment that Slughorn stepped up to their table.

“Well, boys! How are we doing over here?” He asked gazing around their table and into the cauldron. 

“Quite well, Professor.” Draco answered, not wanting to give a bad impression. Potter stayed quiet next to him, holding his hand as if it was still injured. And he accused Draco of dramatics. 

“Good, good! Make sure you get those flies stewing, we want them to be done as quickly as possible. They need three weeks to complete so the sooner you start, the better.” Slughorn told him, as if he didn’t know or couldn’t read the instructions on the board. Draco resisted rolling his eyes. 

“Of course, professor.”

“And don’t let Mr. Malfoy take over, Mr. Potter! You’re just as talented in the subject as he is, if I remember correctly!” Slughorn winked at Potter and then moved on to the next table. Draco didn’t hold back his eye roll this time. 

“Okay seriously. How did you convince him you were good at potions?” Draco pondered as he added the lacewing flies to their cauldron, stirring twice clockwise as he set them to stew. 

Potter bit down on his lip, contemplative. He was suspiciously silent. Draco raised an eyebrow at him. “Er. I- well. I found this old textbook, you see.” He began explaining. 

“What use could that have?”   


“It was Snape’s old textbook. He had notes written all over it.” Potter admitted. 

Draco’s heart fell out of his chest at the mention of his old professor. He hadn’t thought of his Godfather since the war ended, hadn’t truly grieved the loss of him. The reminder of his missing presence shocked him to his core. He turned back to the cauldron, trying not to let Potter see his expression as he sniffed to hold back the tears that sprung in his eyes. 

“And I was able to pick up things from them that made my potions better. It wasn’t exactly cheating, but I’m sure you disagree.” Potter was still talking, evidently. He chuckled, and then nudged Draco, as if expecting him to respond. How could Potter talk so flippantly about the deceased? He had always hated Snape, so perhaps it just didn’t matter to him. 

Draco remained silent, stirring the flies once more as ordered by the recipe. He then stared at the cauldron. He was sure if he spoke his voice would betray him, show how bothered he was by the mention of the old Professor. Merlin, shouldn’t Draco be used to this by now? So many people died in the battle, in the war. Draco  _ watched _ a good portion of them die. Bore witness to horrible, horrible things. But one offhand mention of Snape had him shutting down completely. He couldn’t even snark back at Potter about his obvious cheating. 

“Malfoy? Malfoy!” Potter was saying, and finally a hand reached out and grabbed his wrist. He had been stirring the lacewing flies since the one stir he was supposed to stop after. 

“Shit.” He stopped stirring immediately, pulling his wand out of the cauldron quickly. Then he put out the flame under the cauldron, effectively stopping their lacewings from stewing further. They would have to start over, all due to Draco’s weakness. 

“What happened?” Potter asked, gazing into the now idle cauldron. 

“I over stirred.” Draco explained. He placed his wand on the table and then gripped the edge of it, clenching his teeth and exhaling through his nose. “Like an idiot.” He mumbled. 

“Oh. Well we can just try again. There’s time left.” Potter offered. Draco hated how delicately he said the words. As if he was scared of Draco’s reaction to what he said. 

“I know we can, but we shouldn’t have to.” Draco said, frustrated. “Clean out the cauldron while I get more flies.” 

They prepared the rest of the potion in silence, Potter clearly not wanting to upset Draco further and Draco not wanting to discuss why he was upset. He was hoping Potter would just drop it completely, but after Slughorn dismissed them he felt a hand on his elbow, holding him back in the now empty classroom. 

“Listen, Malfoy, I don’t owe you an apology but I suppose I owe you an explanation.” 

That was the last thing Draco was expecting to hear. He had assumed Potter wanted to talk about what set him off, about how he ruined the beginning of their potion. Potter sighed when Draco didn’t reply but instead arched an eyebrow at him. 

“I just wanted to say that I’m not embarrassed of you. Of us. Whatever  _ us _ is. I just want time to get to know you without everyone breathing down our necks. You know as well as I do what would happen if we were to come out as soulmates right now. There would be no privacy.” He sighed again, and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up. Draco held back his urge to reach out and fix it. 

Draco pursed his lips, thinking over this explanation. He supposed it did make sense, that Potter wouldn’t want the press and all of their classmates all over them while they figured things out. Merlin knew they had plenty to figure out. 

“I know you might not believe me, but I promise that’s the only reason I want to keep it a secret. I’m not ashamed of you or who I am. I actually, er. I told Ron yesterday.” 

This had Draco perking up more. “You what?”

Potter chuckled a little. “Yeah. He took it much better than I expected, which means only a little yelling and so far only one day of pouting about it. He really was holding out hope that it would be Ginny.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t accuse me of anything.” 

“Oh, he did. That’s what the yelling was about. But then I offered to show him my dream and he, well. He couldn’t argue after that.”

“You showed him your dream?” Draco didn’t even know Potter had the dream saved anywhere. It couldn’t be a pleasant one. Draco locked away in Azkaban, strung out, counting his ribs just to survive. He didn’t like the idea of Weasley seeing him like that. He could barely stand the idea of Potter seeing him like that. 

“No, no. Just the offer was enough for him to believe me.”

“Oh. I didn’t realise you still had it.” 

“Of course I kept it. I still have the jar on my bedside table. Haven’t you seen it?”

“I don’t spend my time looking at your side of the room much, no.” Draco snarked. Potter actually laughed at this. Draco bit down on a smile of his own. 

“Well it’s there. I promise.”

Draco nodded, and looked down at their now empty potions table. He could see this conversation for what it was, an olive branch. One he was willing to take. Being mad at the person you live with is exhausting, especially when that person is Potter. He would believe his explanation until given another reason not to. Now he just needed to do something to extend the branch back.    


“How about I tutor you in potions?” He offered, looking back into his eyes. Potter’s head quirked to the side, a question on his face at the non-sequitur. 

“I mean. Yea, that would be nice.” 

“Wonderful. We’ll start tonight.” Draco announced, picking up his bag and finally preparing to leave the classroom. “Meet back here after dinner.”   
“Tonight?” Potter questioned.  “Yes. Tonight. No time like the present, Potter.” Draco said, pushing past him and moving out the door. Potter followed him.    


“I guess I agree.” Potter said, falling into step next to him. “Can I walk with you to dinner?”

“No one is here to stop you.” Draco said bitingly. He tried but failed to hold down the smile spreading on his face from Potter’s simple offer. 

“And isn’t that quite lovely.” Potter remarked. He looked around the empty hallway and then shockingly leaned over to give Draco a peck on the cheek. Draco looked back at him, scandalized.    
“And who said you could do that?”   


“There’s no one here to stop me.” Potter smirked, then grabbed Draco’s hand and brought it up to his lips. He kissed the back of it quickly and then let their hands hang between them, entwined. Draco tried to look horrified at the sudden displays of affection, but knew he just looked pleased. He couldn’t tamper down the smile growing on his face, and he couldn’t help the blush that painted his cheeks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Just a heads up, we're starting to catch up to what I have finished already. If we do catch up, there may start to be a delay in chapters because I want this story to be the best it can possibly be, which means taking my time on it. Hopefully I'll be able to keep up and there won't be a delay, but I wanted to put this disclaimer here now rather than it be a shock a few chapters from now. Thanks for all your support!


	6. Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please read the end notes there's some important info!

Dinner flew by because of Harry’s anticipation for his study session with Malfoy later that night. Because they had cleared the air, and Harry had held his hand, all Harry could think about was Malfoy. The way their hands fit together. The way he flushed when Harry kissed his cheek. Their future together. It finally seemed like they were fully on the same page. Now Harry could spend his time actually getting to know Malfoy, as his soulmate and not as his enemy. 

He had to stop himself from running back to the dungeons, something he never thought he would do. Hermione and Ron both gave him knowing looks as he begged off studying with them. 

Ron’s look was more scrutinizing than knowing. He had moved on from pouting back to not trusting Malfoy’s “intentions” with Harry. He didn’t think Harry had been  _ imperio _ -ed anymore, though, so that was a start. Ron’s initial reaction had been less than ideal, but he seemed far too concerned with the whole  _ Draco Malfoy _ aspect of the situation to have any issues about the whole  _ gay _ aspect. Harry’s worst fears, that his being gay would change how Ron saw him, seemed to be entirely unfounded. It was relieving. 

More than relieving was Malfoy finally accepting his explanation for why they couldn’t come out yet. He was so happy that it seemed like Malfoy was actually making an effort to understand him. And in turn, they could finally start making moves to understand each other better. 

Starting with this potions lesson. He made his way to the dungeons quickly after dinner, unsure which classroom to meet Malfoy in. 

Suddenly he heard a voice. 

“Potter!” 

He turned to see Malfoy in the doorway to one of the classrooms, standing against the doorframe with his arms crossed. His chin was slightly raised, as if this entire ordeal was above him, despite it being his own idea. 

“We’re in here.” Malfoy stated, mouth not moving from the harsh line he had it set in. 

“I see that, thanks.” Harry responded. He stepped past Malfoy into the classroom, and Malfoy shut the door behind them both. 

In the center of the room there was a table set up with a cauldron and an array of ingredients. 

Malfoy moved to stand in front of the table. The air about him was stern and serious. His robes were buttoned up to his neck, and he kept his arms crossed against his chest. Harry stood next to him, staring at the table with pursed lips.

“So what-” 

Malfoy cut him off in a stern tone. “Today we’re starting with a potion from fifth year. One, if I recall correctly, you got an impressive score of  _ zero _ on.” Harry raised his eyebrows, turning towards Malfoy with an incredulous look on his face. 

“How do you remember that?” 

Malfoy scoffed. “It was quite notable. I’d never seen anyone else receive no credit for an attempted potion.” 

“Well Snape hated me.” 

“Well you’re terrible at potions.” 

Harry sighed. A lot of Snape’s treatment of him had been unfair, borderline abusive, but he knew now that it came from a deeper place than just not liking him. He supposed his ability in potions was lacking, but he wasn’t  _ that _ bad at it. He couldn’t remember which potion he had received a zero on. To be fair, he had been going through a lot that year. 

He stared at Malfoy, who looked back at him with raised eyebrows. 

“Well you  _ are _ .” Malfoy restated, responding to his sigh. 

“Maybe. Snape still hated me.” 

“Maybe.” 

They stood there in silence for a moment, looking down at the cauldron. Harry’s mind drifted to Snape, his death. There were so many mixed feelings there, still, since Dumbledore’s death. Harry knew, logically, that Snape had made great sacrifices for their side, but it didn’t change how horrible he had been to Harry and other Gryffindors throughout the years. Harry had also witnessed him kill Dumbledore. He didn’t know if he could ever forgive him for that. 

He knew Malfoy was probably thinking over similar topics. He wondered how much Malfoy knew about Snape, his choices during the war, his history. Harry had never shared how Snape had loved his mother with anyone. No one knew the true reason for his betrayal of Voldemort. 

Harry cleared his throat, still staring at the cauldron. 

“Anyway.” Malfoy started, uncrossing his arms and gesturing to the table. “The lesson for tonight.” 

“You came up with this quickly.” Harry commented, realizing Malfoy had only had the hour of dinner to plan and prepare for the lesson. He was surprised he had prepared so much before Harry got there. 

“I love potions. It wasn’t difficult to pick one to teach you,” Malfoy scoffed. 

“Still, it’s impressive.” 

Malfoy snorted. “Okay, Potter.” 

“Just take the compliment.” Harry said, exasperated, staring at Malfoy who was looking resolutely at the cauldron. Malfoy looked back at him and rolled his eyes. The corners of his mouth quirked up slightly and he sucked his bottom lips between his teeth. 

“ _ Anyway _ . I’d like to start with you identifying each of the ingredients I have set out and the potion we will be making.” Malfoy returned to his stern teaching voice and raised both eyebrows at Harry. 

Harry gulped. He could only recognize some of them. He noticed a unicorn horn and porcupine quills. The other three ingredients looked familiar but Harry couldn’t put his finger on what they were. He thought one of them was moonstone, but he couldn’t be sure. And he certainly had no clue what potion the ingredients added up to. 

“Er...That’s a unicorn horn.” He started. Malfoy moved to the other side of the table while he stood there, staring at the ingredients and trying to work them out. “And porcupine quills.”

“Well spotted.” 

“I think that’s moonstone?” 

Malfoy stopped moving and stared at him incredulously. “You think?”   


“I know that’s moonstone?” Harry corrected, half-heartedly. 

“Do you?” Malfoy questioned. His face had transformed into something Harry hadn’t seen before. Maybe it was shock, but there was a hint of disbelief in there too. Perhaps he was baffled by Harry’s stupidity. Harry felt a blush rise to his cheeks. He knew potions wasn’t his best subject but he didn’t expect to embarrass himself this badly in front of Malfoy. 

“I know that’s moonstone.” Harry said firmly. 

“Okay. Anything else you can identify?” 

Harry stayed silent.

Malfoy sighed. “And I assume that means you can’t identify the potion we’ll be brewing?” 

Harry looked at his fingers and picked at his cuticles. 

Malfoy sighed again. He uncharacteristically ran his fingers through his hair. Harry bit down on his bottom lip. 

“Well. I didn’t think we would have to start here, but I suppose I’ll tell you the rest of the ingredients and the potion.” Malfoy said, then pointed to each of the ingredients Harry had failed to name. “This is syrup of Hellebore, and this is Valerian root. We will be brewing the Draught of Peace.” 

Harry had sudden flashbacks to fifth year and forgetting a key ingredient; Snape yelling at him for misreading the instructions and vanishing his potion. He didn’t deserve a zero on the potion but he definitely hadn’t done well. 

Malfoy continued with an air about him that reminded Harry of Snape. His lip was curled up, his hands held behind his back, his robes billowing behind him as he paced the desk. There was power in how he was acting. Harry hated that he kind of found it hot. He hated  _ more _ that he knew that meant this lesson was going to be a hard one. 

“This is a very precise potion to brew. Each ingredient must be added in the correct amount at the correct time or else the potion will be useless, or possibly even deadly. That is what we’re focusing on today - precision.” Malfoy explained. He paced as he spoke, his black robe sweeping the floor dramatically, but turned to look Harry in the eye on his last word. “First, you must prepare the ingredients.” 

Malfoy waved his wand and a chalkboard swept behind him, and chalk started writing on it with another wave of his wand.  _ Powdered Unicorn Horn, Powdered Porcupine Quills, Syrup of Hellebore, Powdered Moonstone, Valerian Root,  _ it wrote. Harry read through it and then looked back over the ingredients in front of him. 

“As you can see, three of your ingredients need to be powdered. Start with that.” Malfoy ordered, and then turned to the chalkboard to continue writing out the instructions for the potion. 

Harry picked up the mortar and pestle and started with the unicorn horn. He placed the whole thing in the bowl and started grinding at it with the pestle. It made a horrible sound, screeching against the side of the horn. Malfoy winced and turned back around sharply. 

“What are you doing?!” He asked, eyes wide at the sight in front of him. Harry felt his face warm again. 

“Powdering the unicorn horn?” 

“Potter. You can't honestly think that you could powder an entire unicorn horn like that.” Malfoy seemed exasperated, or shocked, or both. Harry bit down on his bottom lip and looked down at the work he had started. 

“Of course not.” He tried to defend. 

“Potter.” 

“Well how else do you powder something!” 

“Try cutting it up first. That should help make the situation easier.” Malfoy turned back to his chalkboard. 

Harry sighed and resigned himself to chopping the unicorn horn into smaller pieces with the knife on the table. When he thought it was satisfactory, he put the pieces back into the mortar. They ground down into a fine powder with some effort, and Harry transferred the powder into a bowl. Next he moved onto the porcupine quills, first chopping them and then grinding them down. 

While he was in the middle of that, Malfoy turned back around from the chalkboard and paced again, watching Harry struggle to grind the quills. He pounded at them with the pestle, trying to crush the chunks into smaller pieces of quill. Malfoy observed him doing this for a while, staring at his technique and walking back and forth along the edge of the table. 

“Your technique is horrible.” Malfoy finally commented, a small smirk gracing his face. 

Harry sighed and dropped the pestle down, hands gripping the edge of the table. “I don’t remember ever being taught proper mortar and pestle  _ technique. _ ” He said at the ground, trying not to get more frustrated than he already was. He knew he was bad at potions but he didn’t think he was so shit he couldn’t grind up some ingredients correctly. He so badly wanted to impress Malfoy, so badly wanted to do  _ one  _ thing correctly. Just if it would prove he wasn’t completely useless in this subject. 

“Of course you weren’t. Snape never would’ve wasted time teaching something as basic as that.” Malfoy scoffed. 

“Well some of us weren’t raised as wizards, so some of us have no idea what proper mortar and pestle technique is!” Harry burst out, throwing his hands in front of him. 

Malfoy looked taken aback by the outburst. He composed himself quickly, but then crossed his arms over his chest and pursed his lips. “I never thought of it like that.” 

“Of course you didn’t!” 

“Of course I didn’t is right, Potter! I’m sorry I’m unlearning my past prejudices but I’m trying my best-” 

Harry sighed, reaching down to grip the table again. He looked down at his hands and watched the white lines of his scar grow whiter against his dark skin. “Yeah! Well!” He couldn’t think of a good enough response. Malfoy was grating on him, getting under his skin in the way that only Malfoy could. 

Malfoy clenched his jaw and stared Harry in the eyes. “I’ll show you.” 

Harry nodded, taking a deep breath to try and calm down as he picked up the pestle again, showing it to Malfoy. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Malfoy sighed a little, then came around the table. Harry was shocked by their sudden proximity. “Go ahead. Try.” 

Harry gulped, and picked up the mortar. He began mashing the pestle into the small pieces of porcupine quill. 

“See, that’s all wrong. You should be  _ grinding _ not  _ mashing _ .” Malfoy corrected. “Try it again.” 

Harry bit down on his bottom lip and started moving the pestle in a circle around the mortar, trying to keep the pieces inside the bowl as he did so. Malfoy sighed next to him. 

“No no, not like that.” Malfoy came up behind him, and looked over his shoulder. “Grind it.” 

“I’m trying.” Harry said calmly, moving his arm around in the circle again, trying to ignore Malfoy breathing down his neck. It was distracting, the feeling of him just an inch away from being pressed against Harry’s back. 

“Here, let me.” Malfoy reached for the mortar and pestle, taking them out of Harry’s hands. He ground down with his right hand, and the porcupine quills screeched as they were turned into a fine powder. Harry watched as Malfoy did this a few more times. “See? Not circles, not pounding. Grinding.” 

“Okay, okay. I can do that.” Harry said firmly. Malfoy handed him back the bowl and stick and nodded for him to try. Harry placed his right palm over the end of the pestle, and pressed down with all his might.    


“No! No.” Malfoy stepped in quickly, right up against his back this time, grabbing his hands. Harry tensed at the sudden contact, back seizing up and chest tightening. Their hands overlapped around the pestle and the bowl. “Like this.” Malfoy instructed, guiding Harry’s hand in the correct grinding motion. 

Harry felt the blood rushing to his cheeks yet again, this time for entirely different reasons. Malfoy was pressed against his back and had his hands over his own, touching him in more places than he could count. He guided him, saying instructions into his ear, but the blood roaring through Harry’s head made it impossible to pay attention. His hands slowly pushed the pestle into the bowl, grinding and crushing the porcupine quills slowly. He did it over and over with Malfoy’s guidance, their hands pressed together. 

Eventually Malfoy let his chin rest on Harry’s shoulder, pressing fully against his back. He moved his hands in the slow motions over and over, holding the bowl tightly as the quills were reduced to dust. 

None of the words Malfoy said stuck with him. He could hear them, feel them against his skin, but it was like his ears and brain were disconnected. 

“There you go, Potter.” He finally said, and that registered, only because it was directly followed by Malfoy pulling his hands away and taking a step back. Malfoy coughed to clear his throat, and Harry turned to look at him. They were still incredibly close. So close that Harry could see the whites of Malfoy’s eyes, surrounding clear grey. They widened, seemingly shocked at their closeness. He coughed again, and took a step back. 

“It seems you’ve gotten the hang of it.” He commented. 

“Er. Yeah.” Harry tried to repeat the motion Malfoy had just worked him through, grinding down into the quills with a strong grip. The quills slowly but surely turned into a fine powder, finer than what he had turned the unicorn horn into. Malfoy stood there next to him and watched it happen. 

Malfoy started nodding as the powder formed, and grinned slowly at Harry. “Now you’ve got it.”

Harry smiled to himself, and poured the finished powder into another jar.

He repeated the steps with the moonstone, Malfoy keeping a close eye on his technique. Once all the ingredients that needed to be powdered were, Harry glanced up at Malfoy. They made long eye contact until Harry cleared his throat. 

“So what next?”

“I’ve written out the steps on the board here. We’ll brew it together, so that I can monitor your process and see what needs tweaking, and also so that the potion does eventually come out correctly.” Malfoy explained, again taking up an air about him that reminded Harry of Snape. 

He strutted around the table and gestured at the board when he mentioned it, he held his nose slightly up in the air, he watched Harry with a critical eye. But where he didn’t remind Harry of Snape was with his genuine interest in seeing him succeed. Even if it was masked with underhanded advice, Harry could tell Malfoy was trying his best.

Harry luckily was able to brew the finicky potion with Malfoy’s help, it was a bright white. He added the last drop of hellebore and a whiff of smoke indicated that the potion was ready. 

“Do you think it’s right?” Harry asked, looking into the cauldron. Malfoy nodded. 

“If I had anything to say about it, which I did, it’ll be right,” he said. “Now siphon it into a tube, I asked Slughorn for something to test it on, but he said we had to do it in his office.” 

“Did you tell Slughorn what we’re doing?” Harry asked, worried about the professor’s idea of him. As far as he knew, Harry was great at potions. Harry wanted it to stay that way. He hoped Malfoy hadn’t told him he needed extra help. 

“I said we both wanted extra potions practice, so don’t worry. Your cover isn’t blown. I had to tell him something. How else do you think I got the ingredients and such?” 

Harry hadn’t considered that. Everytime he needed ingredients, he had stolen them. He, Ron, and Hermione had never simply asked for ingredients. 

“I hadn’t thought of that.” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Of course you hadn’t.” He grinned at him. “Anyway, let’s go down to Slughorn’s office and see how well you did.” 

They headed down the hallway to a Slughorn’s office, Malfoy carrying the potion. Harry followed on his heels as Malfoy power walked towards the office. Malfoy knocked on the door and then took a step back. 

The door swung open and Slughorn lit up when he saw the two of them. “Ah! So lovely to see you both, come in, come in.” He ushered them into the office. It was exactly as Harry had remembered it, shrine to his past students and all. He glanced around and tried to avoid eye contact with Slughorn, who was smiling widely at him. “I’m so glad that you both wanted to work on your potions skills, although I must say I don’t think either of you particularly need it. I’m glad to see the initiative.”

Harry stared at the ground at the mention of his potions skills. He avoided Malfoy’s glance like the plague. “Of course, sir. We wanted to work on working together.” Harry explained. 

“Ah, yes. Of course, I’d expect the two of you to have some collaboration issues. But I’m sure you can work it out to make some wonderful potions.” He smiled at them both. 

Malfoy cleared his throat. “We finished the draught of peace.” He held up the tube containing the potion and shook it slightly. 

Slughorn’s face lit up. “Ah, yes! I have a mouse you can test it on.” He summoned a mouse onto his desk, and took the test tube from Malfoy. Harry watched closely as he siphoned a drop of the potion into the mouse’s mouth. The mouse immediately fell asleep. Slughorn ran a few diagnostic spells to make sure it was still alive, and then smiled up at both of them. “Seems good. I’ll let you know during next class how long he stays asleep.” 

“Thank you, professor.” Malfoy said, nodding at Slughorn. Harry bit down on his lip to contain his grin. He felt inexplicably proud of himself for having successfully brewed the potion. 

“Yes, thanks.” Harry added. 

“Oh run along. I’m sure both of you are sick of each other and school work.” Slughorn ordered, waving his hands at both of them. They left the room, walking into the hallway in silence. 

Harry felt a grin spread across his face. He looked up and down the hallway and noticed there was no one there, so he reached out and grabbed Malfoy’s hand, interlacing their fingers. Malfoy gave him the same shocked look he had given him earlier. 

“Why must you do this?” Malfoy asked. He was badly trying to tamper down a smile. 

“I want to.” Harry admitted, smiling at him. “Thank you for helping me with my potions.” 

“It’s no problem, really.” Malfoy said, swinging their hands slightly. 

“I know it is. There’s gotta be a way I can pay you back.” Harry offered. The thought had just occurred to him that he really should do something to pay him back. As of now it seemed the only thing he was doing was being nice to him, which Harry would be doing anyway. Harry knew Malfoy had offered the lessons as a return for Harry’s own olive branch, and now he felt that repayment was in order. 

“There’s certainly no subject that you excel at that I’m struggling in.” Malfoy quipped. They had reached the entrance hall, where it was much more likely that they would run into other people. Harry dropped Malfoy’s hand. 

“Transfiguration?” Malfoy shook his head. “Care of magical creatures?” Again, a head shake. “Defense?” Malfoy shook his head, but bit his lip and looked at the ground. “Defense.” Harry repeated, a smirk spreading across his face. 

“Well. Not the subject in general. But there’s one spell...” He trailed off. “It’s stupid.” 

“I bet it’s not.” Harry reassured.

“I’ve never been able to perform a successful patronus.” Malfoy admitted. There were plenty of people around now, moving from the library and the great hall back to their dormitories. Harry stopped as Malfoy leaned against the wall in a small alcove at the bottom of the grand staircase. 

“Oh! That’s not stupid at all.” It actually made sense to Harry. It was a skill most people weren’t taught until seventh year, and Malfoy’s seventh year had not only been cut short but had the Dark Arts being taught instead of defense. 

“I know you’ve been able to since third year.” 

“Yeah, because Remus taught me to relieve my anxieties about the dementors.” At the mention of Remus, his heart clenched. He tried not to think about him much, tried not to think about any of the dead that often. It made his eyes burn. He hated the way it made him feel, the guilt almost choking him. He swallowed tightly around a ball in his throat and tried to continue. “But, uhm. Most people don’t learn it that early. I understand why you were never taught.” 

“Oh, I was taught. My mother taught me during third year too. Or, tried to. I could never produce one. It just wouldn’t happen.” 

Harry sighed, biting his lip. He looked at the ground. “Well I’ve taught loads of people how to do it. I bet I can teach you.” 

“Oh yeah, you bet? What are the stakes?” Malfoy grinned at him.

“If I can teach you by December, you go on a date with me.” Harry didn’t know where  _ that _ came from. His brain to mouth filter was not working. Based on Malfoy’s facial expression, he wasn’t expecting that either. His eyebrows nearly hit his hairline, but then his lips settled into a smile. 

“And if you can’t?” Malfoy smirked. 

“If I can’t... I’ll wear Slytherin robes for a day.” Harry offered. The thought of wearing a Slytherin tie disgusted him a little more than he was willing to admit. Malfoy’s eyes widened and he burst out laughing. 

“Now that’s a sight I’d like to see!”

“But you can’t resist in lessons! You have to put your full effort forward.” 

“Potter, both of these results are good for me. I’ll be trying my best.” 

Harry smirked, letting the grin spread across his face. “Both of them are good for you?” 

Malfoy’s face dropped into a scowl. “Fuck off. I accept your terms. Let’s go to bed.” He walked away swiftly, leaving Harry in the alcove with a grin on his face. 

~~~~

Harry woke up in an unknown place. The world was foggy, especially around the edges of the graveyard. Nothing was in focus. Slowly, the fog spread away and Harry could make out graves in rows, one he was hiding behind. Then he heard it. 

“Kill the spare!” 

It was a hiss, almost parseltongue. Harry would recognize it anywhere. 

He looked to his right, and there it was. 

Cedric’s body. 

He ran to it, shaking at his chest and weeping. “No, no, no.” 

Suddenly Harry is outside of his body, looking down. He saw himself shaking Cedric, and then dragging the body behind a gravestone to hide it. He watched as he cried over the body. 

His vision shifted to watch Voldemort and Peter Pettigrew, who were preparing the potion in a large cauldron. 

His vision faded, and suddenly he saw himself tied to a large tombstone. Voldemort was in his face. He was happy to be out of his body for this part, remembering the fear and panic he had experienced. His heart was racing now, breath heaving, and he was a good distance away from the scene. 

He blinked and he was back in his body. Voldemort’s face was closer to his than he would ever be comfortable with. His red, beady eyes raking over his face. 

“I can touch you now.” He hissed in parseltongue, and then reached out a single finger to run down his cheek. Harry tried to curl away but couldn’t. His mind was racing, thinking of the ways he could possibly get out. His stomach dropped to the floor. His heart was pounding in his chest, trying desperately to reach out. 

There were Death Eaters all around, in masks. They started to close in on him, moving closer and closer until they were surrounding the gravestone less than a foot away. Voldemort was still touching his skin, running his fingertip over his cheek and nose. Harry’s eyes darted around at the Death Eaters, trying to avoid eye contact with the Dark Lord in front of him. 

Suddenly one of the Death Eaters stepped out of the circle. He removed his mask, and it was Vernon Dursley. His breathing picked up again, turning away from the face in front of him and trying to get out of his bonds. He wriggled around as much as he could, trying desperately to escape. 

The bonds were cut and he fell to the ground, Voldemort and Vernon standing over him. They closed in, and he curled up in a ball, his hands going to cover his head. He heard the hiss of parseltongue and the guffaw of Vernon, laughing at his plight. The two men closed in on him, moving towards him with loud steps. 

The hissing stopped, and was replaced with chanting. Someone was saying  _ Harry, Harry, Harry... _

“Harry!” It was Malfoy.

Harry jolted awake to Malfoy shaking his shoulders and looking down at him. 

Since they had been sharing a bed this week, Harry hadn’t had a nightmare. He had been counting his blessings that it hadn’t happened yet. Apparently his blessings had run out. Now he was looking into the eyes of a concerned Malfoy. He had never wanted that. Their shared nightmare had been plenty for Malfoy to see into his psyche, and now here they were, sharing a bed while Harry had another stupid nightmare about the war. 

“Sorry for waking you.” He said, turning on his side to face away from Malfoy. That’s how they always slept, turned away from each other. Malfoy was always out of bed by the time Harry woke up in the morning. 

“No, it’s okay. I-” Malfoy started, then stopped himself. Harry turned his head to look at him. He was still staring down at him, resting up on one elbow and turned to face Harry. “You know I get them too.” He finally settled on. 

Harry sighed. “I know. But I’m still sorry for waking you. We can just go back to bed.” 

“I-” 

“It’s fine, Malfoy.” 

“I just wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help.” 

“There’s nothing. It’s okay. I’ve survived them before.” Harry ran a hand down his face, laying on his back and avoiding Malfoy’s eye. When he finally met them he didn’t see the pity he was expecting, just what seemed like genuine concern. 

“You were thrashing all around. Maybe. Maybe if I held you, it would help?” 

Harry glanced up at Malfoy in shock. “Held me?” 

Malfoy grimaced and looked down at the bed, then rolled onto his back and threw his hands over his head, covering his eyes. He bit down on his lip harshly before saying, “Stupid idea, sorry.” 

“No. No, it’s not stupid.” Harry confessed. 

He thought back to the Forest of Dean, when he and Hermione had been alone. When he struggled with nightmares then, she would often crawl into his bed and cuddle him, cradling his head against her chest. It didn’t mean anything, really. She would lull him to sleep like he imagined a mother would her child. They never told Ron about it, of course, and it stopped when he was around. But. But maybe Malfoy was onto something. 

“It’s not?” 

“No.” Harry slowly reached over and wrapped his arms around Malfoy’s middle. Malfoy stared at him while he did it, arms above his head and eyes wide. “No it’s not.” Harry mumbled into his chest. It was firm, but it was comfortable to lay his head on. He could hear Malfoy’s heartbeat, a calm repetitive noise that was sure to lull him to sleep. 

“Okay, Potter. If you say so.” Malfoy grumbled, finally letting his arms fall. They wrapped around Harry, one going to his waist and the other to his hair. He carded through Harry’s messy hair and let his fingers get caught in the knots of the curls. Harry shut his eyes. 

“‘s not stupid. ‘s good.” He slurred slightly as he drifted off into a deep sleep. 

~~~~

The next few weeks floated by without much interruption. Harry woke up wrapped around Malfoy most days, which was a large change, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He hadn’t had a single nightmare since they started sleeping like that, and neither had Malfoy to his knowledge. They both slept better when they slept together. 

It felt like everything was better when he did it with Malfoy. 

His potions skills had increased ten fold. They would do two lessons a week, coinciding with the days they had potions, and it helped Harry immensely. Malfoy was a wonderful teacher. And from that they had taken to studying together as well, sometimes dragging their friends along. Ron and Blaise got along surprisingly well, despite a few fights the first time they hung out. Hermione and Pansy took more time to warm up to each other. In other words, they were still warming up to each other. Harry was waiting for them to realize they were incredibly similar people, but it didn’t seem to be happening any time soon. 

One night after dinner it was just Malfoy and Harry in the library. They both had books open and were working on a transfiguration essay. They were tucked away in a corner of the library, and it felt like they were alone in the large room. 

It was quiet, them two working there. Harry was happy with the set up they had. Malfoy was across the table from him, notes open. Harry reached out with his foot and let their toes touch under the table. Malfoy bit down on a smile. 

That was another thing that had changed, Malfoy had been smiling a lot more recently. Harry liked seeing it, especially when it was from something he himself did, like right now. 

Suddenly, a loud bang along with a red light hit their table. It shook and papers went flying. Harry jumped up. 

“What was that?” Harry asked, standing with his wand out and looking around the library. Malfoy looked down with a grimace, and didn’t respond. He didn’t even seem to react at all. “Malfoy? Did you see that?” Malfoy was collecting his papers back in order, still looking at the table. 

“Surely you can recognize a  _ stupefy _ when it comes flying at you.” Malfoy quipped, seemingly unbothered by the attack. He had already recollected his papers and was working again. Harry looked up and down the aisles and found no one there. “Don’t bother. They’ll have cast a disillusionment charm.” 

“But, why? Why would someone try and  _ stupefy _ us?” 

“Not  _ us _ , me. It happens every so often.” 

“This has happened before?” Harry asked, struck by how much he didn’t know. How could Malfoy not have told him about this? How could he have been so in the dark? How could this have been happening right under his nose?

“Yes, Potter. Surprisingly not everyone has taken so quickly to the idea of an ex-Death Eater being in their midst.” Malfoy explained, not looking at Harry. Harry bit down on his lip and sat back down across from Malfoy. 

“I didn’t think anyone would do something like  _ that _ .” Harry said with disgust. “I knew coming back here wouldn’t be easy for you, but I thought people would have basic human decency-” 

“Not everyone is as noble as you.” 

“It’s not about being noble! It’s about being a good person.” 

“So you only forgave me to be a good person? Not because I deserve it?” Malfoy flung at him. Harry felt like he had whiplash from the statement. When had Malfoy gotten mad at him? 

“When did I say that?” Harry protested. 

“You didn’t  _ not _ say it.” Malfoy sneered. 

“What does that even mean, Malfoy?” Harry thought things had been going well, he thought things were good. Better. They cuddled every night before they went to sleep, they studied together, they held hands when they were alone. Harry thought things were getting better everyday, that they were getting closer than ever. And now, this. Malfoy accused him of something out of nowhere.

Just then, Ron and Blaise walked up to the table. Malfoy went silent, and Harry sat there waiting for an answer. 

“What’s up, lads?” Ron greeted. He sat down at the table and started pulling out books. Blaise followed suit next to Malfoy. 

“Nothing much. Just working on Transfiguration.” Malfoy answered. Harry guessed the argument would have to be tabled until later, although he really didn’t want it to. Tonight was meant to be their first Patronus lesson. Hopefully it wouldn’t bleed into that. Harry would try not to let it. But tonight in their room he would bring it up again. He wouldn’t stand to be accused of things he’d never done. 

“Yea, and someone sent a  _ stupefy _ at us.” Harry said.

“That’s still happening?” Blaise asked Malfoy. Malfoy simply nodded. Harry was again left shocked that he was out of the loop about something so important. Blaise knew, and Ron didn’t look so shocked either, but Harry had no clue? Did Malfoy really trust him that little? 

“I’m surprised they tried anything with Harry around. They’re getting bolder.” Ron commented. “Haven’t they usually stayed away when Harry was around?” 

“Did everyone know about this except for me?” Harry commented, looking directly at Malfoy. He had the decency to look embarrassed, staring down at his paper. 

“I guess so, mate. I assumed you knew.” Ron said, looking between him and Malfoy.

“My guess is they didn’t recognize Potter from the back.” Malfoy stated. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter, no one was hurt.” 

“But what if someone  _ was _ ? We have to do something about this.” Harry argued. 

“There’s nothing to be done, Potter. Slytherins are hated by everyone at this school. It could literally be anybody. It’s probably more than one person.” Blaise said. 

“I still think we should try and do something about it.” 

“What do you suggest we do, Potter?” Malfoy sneered. “Go on a crusade looking for the assailants?” 

“Well we should at least try to stop it from happening!” 

“You can, if you so choose. I’m resigned to it. It’s nothing I can’t handle.” 

“You shouldn’t have to handle it, Malfoy. That’s the point here.” 

Before Malfoy could retort again, Ron jumped in. “Harry, I think you should let Malfoy deal with this.” 

“Of course you do, Weasley.” Malfoy sneered. “Think I deserve this, do you?”

Ron was suspiciously silent. Harry glared at him. This would not win him points with Malfoy, who he was apparently already on thin ice with today.    


“Whatever. I’m going to finish my essay in the common room.” And with that, Malfoy left the table.

“Are you serious, Ron?” Harry said, exasperated with his friend. He didn’t need to get involved especially when Malfoy was already mad at him. 

“What? He clearly didn’t want you to get involved, or he would’ve told you himself. And the people who are doing it probably lost people in the war. They have to have someone to blame.” 

“Malfoy never killed anybody.” 

“How do you know that, Harry? You think because he’s your soulmate he’s suddenly not a Death Eater?!” Ron exclaimed. They got sudden stares from other people in the library, and Ron lowered his voice. It was no less harsh, though. “You don’t know all the things he’s done.”

“He  _ was _ a death eater. And I know he could never have killed someone. I know it.” Harry defended. He had watched his wand fall on the astronomy tower. Malfoy didn’t have killing in him. Ron already knew about that, so Harry didn’t see why his feelings had changed so drastically. 

“How do you know that, Harry? Did he tell you?” 

Harry went silent. 

“Exactly.” 

Blaise was staring at Ron with a rage in his eyes Harry had never seen before. Harry gulped when he caught his eye and looked to the ground. Ron caught his eye and held it. “What, Zabini? No defense for your friend?”

“I really thought you had changed, Weasley. Draco never killed anyone. He could barely cast a cruciatus.” 

“Look, I’m just looking out for Harry.” Ron defended. “I don’t want him to get caught up in something he doesn’t know about.”

Harry scoffed. “I think I can handle myself.” 

“I need to go.” Blaise said, gathering his things. “You two have fun discussing whether or not Draco is evil.” He sneered, and then left the table. 

Ron sighed, looking at Blaise’s back. He turned back to Harry. “I know you can, but what if he’s done things you can’t accept? I mean, just think about the way he used to treat Hermione. What if you just go and fall for him before you know what he’s done? What then?” 

Harry considered this for a moment. He truly  _ didn’t _ know all the things Malfoy had done during the war. What had Malfoy done? What if he had done things Harry couldn’t forgive? He knew he had tortured some, or tried to, but had he succeeded? What if he had tortured muggleborns the way Bellatrix tortured Hermione? Did he carve ‘mudblood’ into someone’s arm? 

Harry might never know the answer to these things. Could he love Malfoy knowing his past? 

“I’m not saying he’s evil. I’m just saying we don’t know him that well yet.” 

“Maybe you’re right. We don’t know each other as well as I’d like to.” Harry conceded, “He still doesn’t deserve random  _ stupefys  _ being thrown at him,” he said, with finality. Ron sighed at him. 

“I guess not, mate.” 

“He doesn’t.” Harry stayed firm. “I'll figure out who’s doing this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, we have officially caught up to where I am in writing this fic. I have two more chapters written but not edited, so there will likely be a chapter next week but I make no promises as of right now. My beta has been going through some shit so that's why they haven't been edited yet, so it kind of depends on whether or not they get around to reading over what I have written in the next week. I will try to post a new chapter on the Friday after it's done, to keep up at least a little with the posting schedule I have made. So sorry for the wait but I want this fic to be as good as possible! I hope you all understand!


	7. Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad I'm able to post this chapter today! Enjoy!

The classroom Potter had told him to meet at was at the end of the third floor corridor. Draco walked there slowly, not looking forward to the lesson the way he had earlier in the day. The way he had lashed out in the library was sure to make this lesson awkward at best, and explosive at worst. 

Why had he blown up like that? Sure, he did think that Potter was being unfairly nice to him. They were soulmates and all, but the hand holding and other niceties had seemingly come from nowhere. Draco knew it was because Potter pitied him, and not because he actually wanted to get to know him. No matter what he said. 

But that didn’t mean he wanted it all to stop. He secretly liked when Potter held his hand, sometimes tracing shapes onto his palm as they talked before bed. Sometimes he would even kiss his knuckles. Draco liked it all, despite his best efforts to pretend he didn’t. It was nice to pretend sometimes, that he and Potter could work out. That it wasn’t wishful thinking for the two of them to get together. Draco knew Potter would eventually come to his senses and leave him in the dust. 

After being attacked, yet again, in the library, Draco just couldn’t take it. He couldn’t let Potter sit there and pretend that everything was going to be okay. Let Potter be all protective as if his hero complex was the only reason he was doing any of this. It hit a chord in Draco, made him remember that this was all fantasy. They could play footsie under the table all day, but when it came down to it he was just another person for Potter to save. 

So he wasn’t exactly looking forward to a private lesson with the bloke. 

But he was still going. He didn’t really have an answer for why. He just knew that cancelling didn’t make sense, as they had both been waiting for a free night to do this for weeks. They had been focused on potions lessons the past few free nights they had, because Potter’s lack of potions knowledge was a bit of a more pressing issue. And now it was finally time to try and teach Draco how to cast a Patronus. 

Try was the important word here. Draco did not believe Potter could possibly teach him the charm. It wasn’t a rag on Potter’s teaching abilities. It was just that he didn’t believe he’d ever be able to cast one. 

He was too broken. He had too many bad memories to ever harness the power of the few good ones. It didn’t help that he had the mark, a symbol of the most dark magic in the world. Surely, that would hinder his ability to cast the literal embodiment of light magic. 

He was not convinced Potter would be the one who was able to break through that curse. 

The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom Potter had chosen was empty but for the teacher’s desk at the front of the room, and Potter himself standing in front of it. Draco stood in the doorway, watching for a moment. Potter set up a practice dummy opposite the desk that he had pushed back against the wall. He took out his wand and cast some charms to transform the dummy into something regarding a dementor. It was tall and wore a long black cloak, with spinally fingers that stuck out from the sides. 

Draco thought it would do. 

Potter now had some time to kill, waiting for Draco. He sat on the desk and took out his wand. He cast “ _ Expecto patronum, _ ” and a stag came out the end of his wand. He watched it run around the room. He smiled at it, and it dissipated as it ran towards the fake dementor. 

“So you just casually cast a patronus, huh?” Draco said, finally revealing his presence. Potter jumped slightly. Draco stared at where the stag had disappeared, with an apprehensive look on his face. 

“I like to look at him sometimes.” Potter responded. He cast again. 

Draco watched in awe as the stag ran around the room once before approaching him, nudging its face against his chest. He saw Potter bite down on a smile as he reached out a shocked hand to pet the deer. As soon as his hand made contact the thing dissipated into smoke, and Draco looked up at Potter. He quickly tried to tamper down the fond smile that had spread across his face.

“He likes you.” Potter said, smirking. Draco blushed furiously, his cheeks red as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Well I am quite likeable.” He responded. Then he took another glance at the dementor dummy and the flush faded from his face. 

Draco wouldn’t let his fear get the best of him. He had seen Potter set up the dummy, he knew it was fake. He tried not to show how much the fake dementor was affecting him. He felt like Potter in third year.    


“Is that okay?” Potter asked, glancing over at the dummy. Draco snapped out of it, looking back at him. Apparently he hadn’t hid his feelings well enough. 

“Uhm. Yeah. Yeah it’s fine.” He replied, shaking his head a little to clear it. 

“If it’s not, I can change it,” Potter said, pulling out his wand. 

“I said it’s fine.” Draco snapped. He pulled out his own wand and moved to stand next to Potter. “Let’s get started.” 

Potter gave him a side eye and pursed his lips. “If you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure, Potter.” Draco snapped again. He looked directly at Potter and crossed his arms over his chest. His wand faced up towards his face, nuzzled in his elbow. He set his jaw and his mouth sat in a straight line. “Let’s start.” 

“Okay, come over here then.” 

Draco moved to stand next to Potter, letting his wand hang at his side. 

“First things first, the wand movement.” Potter showed him how to move his wand, in a small circle. He did it over and over. 

Draco made circles with his wand under Potter’s scrutinizing eye. He could feel himself heating up at the way Potter monitored his movements so intensely, his cheeks flushing red. His gaze was unbreakable. Draco just kept making circles with his wand. 

“No, no. Watch me. It should be closer to a spiral.” Potter explained. He showed Draco again, and then gestured for him to try. Draco sighed, trying again reluctantly. He didn’t understand what he was doing wrong. He was just making a circle with his wand. “You keep just making a circle.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m trying my best here.”    


“I know you are, but you’ve gotta get this part right. Everything else is much, much harder.” 

“Well then maybe I can’t do this spell,” Draco grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“What?” Potter asked, stopping his wand movement. 

“Nothing, forget it.” 

Potter sighed, turning to face him fully. “You  _ can _ do this, Malfoy. Watch my wand movement.” He encouraged, then redid the circle again.

“It’s just a circle! Like this!” Draco repeated the motion. 

“No, it’s not just a circle. The ends have to be separated from each other.” Potter explained, then did the motion again. Draco couldn’t see any difference between the motion Potter did and the one he was doing. 

“That’s what I did.” 

“No you did this.” Potter made a perfect circle with his wand. Draco finally noticed the almost imperceptible difference from the first motion. The two ends didn’t connect like they did the way Potter showed him this time. 

“Okay, so...” Draco tried it again. This time he let the end of the circle fall slightly below where he started. 

“Exactly! Yes!” Potter’s face lit up. Draco preened under the attention, allowing a smirk to cover his face. “Try it again.” 

Draco did it again, the same way. Potter smiled at him. “Perfect.” 

Draco bit down on his bottom lip at the praise. “Well I’m glad that’s out of the way.” He made the motion with his wand again, flourishing his wand at the end. Potter laughed, a happy snort, and Draco beamed. 

“Just don’t do that when you’re casting and you should be good.”

Draco rolled his eyes with a grin. “So what’s next?” 

“Now comes the trickiest part. You have to call up your happiest memory and channel the feeling into the spell.” Potter explained. 

“You make it sound so simple.” Draco said. 

He prepared himself to cast, calling up a memory of his mother teaching him to fly a broom. “ _ Expecto patronum! _ ” He cried, making a circle with his wand. 

Nothing happened. Draco’s face fell, and Potter clearly noticed. 

“That’s okay. Nothing usually happens on the first try.” Potter reassured him. 

“This isn’t my first try, though.” Draco huffed, looking at the ground. He was disappointed in himself for not being able to perform, especially in the presence of Potter. 

“It is to me. Fuck what happened third year, you’re learning it new, now.” Potter said. “Try it again. Imagine you’re there, in the memory. Allow it to take over your mind.”

Draco took a deep breath and called up the same memory. He remembered his mother holding the end of the broom, the smell of the flowers in the garden around them, the bright green of the grass below him. He allowed himself to be enveloped in the memory. He could barely feel his feet touching the ground... “ _ Expecto patronum! _ ” 

Nothing happened. 

“Dammit!” He shouted, only just resisting the urge to throw his wand on the ground. 

“It’s okay, really. It’s a hard thing to do. The memory might not be powerful enough, try another. And this time close your eyes.” Harry instructed. 

“I think the memory was powerful enough.” Draco defended. It was one of the happiest times in his life, before Hogwarts, before the war, before everything. He wasn’t sure he  _ had _ a happier memory. Except maybe... maybe the kiss he had shared with Potter. The quidditch match. It wasn’t a guarantee, but it was the happiest he had felt in a long time. 

“Just try something else, you might be surprised.” Potter urged. Draco gulped. 

“Fine. But if this doesn’t work, I’m giving up for the night.” Draco conceded. 

“I guess that’s fair. For now.” Potter said. 

Draco nodded, then called up the memory of their first kiss. He closed his eyes like Potter had recommended, and imagined he was back there. His knees digging into the grass of the forest, Potter’s strong arm braced around his waist. He recalled the smell of heavy wood, Potter’s smell of sandalwood. Remembered the look of adoration on Potter’s face, the cautious way he asked to kiss him. Pulled up the softness of his lips on his, the way their tongues slid against each other. 

“ _ Expecto patronum. _ ” He didn’t yell it this time, it was barely a whisper as he grinned and cast the spell. He opened his eyes in time to see small wisps of a patronus emerge from his wand. 

Potter’s face broke out into a huge smile, and the idiot actually clapped. Draco blushed and looked to the ground. He bit down on his bottom lip as the sides of his mouth curled up. “You did it!” Potter cried, then wrapped him up in a hug. Draco let out a small whoosh of air as Potter’s arms wrapped around his waist. Draco raised his arms above his head, unsure what to do with them. Finally he let them come down and rest on Potter’s shoulder. 

“It wasn’t corporeal, but you did it.” Potter whispered in his ear. “I knew you could.”

Draco let himself sit in the cocoon of Potter’s arms for a moment before he let go and pulled back. He could feel the heat in his cheeks and he brushed a hand over his face in an attempt to hide his blush. 

“Thank you.” 

“Do you want to try one more time, for good measure? Or do you want to leave it there?” Potter asked. He hadn’t stopped smiling since Draco had cast the small wisps of the patronus. Draco considered for a moment. Tonight would have to end at some point, the fantasy of this lesson would come to a crashing halt once they finished. They had unfinished business, Draco knew, and he knew it would come up once they stopped this lesson. 

“One more time.” He said. Potter nodded. 

“Try aiming it at the dementor, this time.” He suggested, gesturing to the dummy at the other end of the room. 

Draco gulped and called up the same memory, focusing on how he could feel Potter’s heartbeat against his own. “ _ Expecto patronum! _ ” He aimed the spell at the dummy. This time, instead of small wisps, a large blast of light was emitted from his wand. The dummy was thrown back a few feet. There was still no corporeal patronus, but Draco was proud of what he had accomplished. 

Potter seemed proud of him too, if his smile was anything to go by. He didn’t hug Draco this time, but his wide grin was ever present. 

“Great job. You’re getting closer.” Potter said, then waved his wand at the dementor looking thing, which turned it back into a regular practice dummy. 

  
  


~~~~

Draco got to the room after Potter that night. He had spent the night after their lesson with Blaise and Pansy, definitely not avoiding Potter. He just had work he needed to do. At least, that’s what he told himself. He just knew the other shoe was going to drop at some point. He knew their fight from the library was unfinished. 

When he entered the room, Potter was sitting on the edge of the bed, twirling his wand between his fingers. Draco coughed to announce his presence, and Potter looked up to meet his eye. 

“Malfoy.” He nodded in greeting. 

He clearly had more to say. Draco sighed, shutting the door behind him. Of course they needed to talk. Draco wasn’t done with their fight either, but he wasn’t looking forward to hashing it out. He knew things could get nasty. Things probably  _ would _ get nasty. Draco folded his arms across his chest, and nodded at Potter to continue. 

Potter sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me that people were attacking you?” He started with. 

“I don’t need you being my knight in shining armour.” Draco explained, trying to keep his tone civil. He was going to try his hardest to get through this fight without exploding, but he wasn’t sure he would make it. He was getting to his breaking point with Potter pretending to like him, pretending to care. There was just no way his feelings had changed so quickly about Draco. 

“I’m not trying to be, I just want you to be safe.” 

“It seems like you’re trying to be.” 

“Malfoy, I know you can take care of yourself. But that doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help.” Potter stood up and faced him, arms hanging pointlessly at his sides.

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I don’t need your misguided help, Potter.” He spat. 

“Misguided?” 

“I don’t need the saviour of the world to come to my rescue.”

“I’m not saying you do! I’m just saying-” 

Draco’s temper roared its head. “You’re  _ saying _ that you want to help me because you’re such a good person. Mr. Chosen One. You can’t handle not helping because you have a fucking saviour complex!”

“Wanting to make sure you aren’t hurt does not mean I have a saviour complex!” Potter shouted, stepping closer to Draco. “It means I care about you.” He tried, reaching for Draco’s hand. Draco turned away from him. 

“It means you think you care about me."   


“Now what does that even mean, Malfoy!?” Potter threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

“You don’t care about me the way you think you do, Potter! You just have it in your head that you have to because we’re soulmates. Nothing you do is genuine.” Draco accused. 

Potter’s face hardened at that, his mouth set in a harsh line and his jaw tightened. Draco took a step back towards the door until his back was pressed against it. 

“Nothing I do is genuine?” He repeated. Draco nodded with a sneer.    


“All the hand holding, the cuddling, it’s all bullshit.” 

“You think so, huh?” Potter demanded. 

Draco nodded again. 

“Well how am I meant to be  _ genuine _ when I don’t even know half the shit you’ve done, huh?”

This got Draco’s attention. Didn’t know half the shit he’s done? Like what? What was Potter possibly accusing him of? 

“What?” He said softly, almost a whisper. He clenched his fists. 

“You know exactly what I mean. You’re a Death Eater, for Merlin’s sake!”

Draco blanched at this. He thought he knew his past was affecting them, but this just proves it. Potter still saw him as a Death Eater and nothing else. He only saw his past and the things he regretted. Potter can’t have possibly looked past all of that recently, he was pretending for Draco’s sake. For the sake of his own superiority complex. 

Draco settled in his stance, not allowing the tears springing to his eyes to fall. He took his back off of the door and moved to open it. 

“You’re right. That’s all I am.” 

Potter seemed to immediately regret his words. Draco couldn’t stand to watch him fumble and try to take them back. It was clear that’s all he saw Draco as. 

“Malfoy, wait-”

“No!” Draco shouted, suddenly feeling everything all at once. Hurt. Angry. Destroyed. “You’re right! All I am is some evil Death Eater. I thought maybe-” He cut himself off before he could reveal too much. “I thought you could see I’m trying.” 

“I know you’re trying.” 

“Clearly you don’t.”

“Well you can’t even look past your own nose to see I care about you! That I’m not faking it!”

“How can you say you aren’t faking it when you just called me a Death Eater!” Draco welled up again and he looked at the ceiling, trying to blink away the tears. 

“I’m not faking it, but Malfoy-”

“No, Potter. I’m sick of pretending. I’m sick of holding hands and cuddling and kissing on the cheek as if the two of us weren’t sworn enemies until two months ago. I’m sick of acting like everything is okay when clearly it’s  _ not. _ ” Draco said violently. He moved closer to Potter, getting in his space. “You have no right to lead me on and then demand to know the ‘things I’ve done’ as if I’m nothing but a Death Eater to you.” 

Potter sighed and pressed his hands into his eyes, taking a step away from Draco. “I’m not leading you on, I swear. And I have a right to know what you did during the war-”

“You have no right to know that for your own goddamn peace of mind. If you actually cared because you cared about me, this would be a different conversation.” 

“I do care about you!”

“You care about the concept of me, Potter, and nothing else.” Draco said, and then turned to leave the room. 

“Draco-” Potter whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever, Potter.” He slammed the door as he left. 

~~~~ 

The morning after their fight Draco woke up on the couch in the common room to light streaming through the window. It couldn’t be later than six in the morning, an ungodly time to be awake. He stretched and tilted his head back and forth, cracking his neck. He knew he would eventually have to return to the room to get his clothes and shower, but he was reluctant to do so. All Draco wanted was to avoid seeing Potter for the rest of his life. He knew that was impossible, but he was hoping he could do it for the next few days. 

Blaise came down the stairs from his room and saw Draco there on the couch. Draco immediately tried to look casual and not like he had been sleeping there. It was a hard thing to pull off. 

“I take it things didn’t go well with Potter last night?” Or maybe an impossible thing to pull off. Draco sighed and put his head in his hands, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. 

“You could say that.” Draco conceded. Blaise came and sat down next to him, placing a hand on his back. 

“What happened?” He asked. Draco explained the events of the night prior. 

“He actually called you a Death Eater?” Blaise said, astonished. Draco shrugged. 

“I mean, he’s not wrong, is he?” Draco offered. 

“You know that’s not fair.”

“Well I don’t know what to do about it now. It’s clear he doesn’t care about me the way he wants to believe he does.” Draco said, throat catching. It was a truth he had known for a while, but having it proven to him so harshly wasn’t something he expected. 

“Draco, you can’t possibly think that’s true.” Blaise said. Draco looked up at him in shock. Blaise? Defending Potter? He neer thought he’d see the day. 

“What else am I meant to think?” 

“Weasley got into his head. You know he still has his qualms with you. At the library, after you left, Weasley was saying all these horrible things about how he couldn’t know what you’d done.”

“If he’s so easily malleable perhaps I don’t want him anyway.” Draco scoffed. If it was true, if what he had said had come from Weasley and not form himself, maybe Draco could consider forgiving Potter. Not yet, but someday. Maybe sooner than he had imagined. But some part of Potter must believe what he said, or else he wouldn’t have said it. He wouldn’t have listened to Weasley if he didn’t believe some part of it himself. And that hurt Draco, to think that Potter couldn’t see further than his own past.

“Now that’s the most untrue statement I’ve ever heard. You’ve wanted Potter since I can remember.” Blaise laughed. Draco sighed and leaned his head onto Blaise’s shoulder. 

“That’s a gross exaggeration.” 

“Draco, you wanted to be his best friend from the moment you learned his name.”

“That’s only because father told me he was to be the next Dark Lord.” Draco defended. Blaise stroked a hand through his hair. 

“You tell yourself what you need to tell yourself, I suppose.” 

Blaise continued to stroke a hand through Draco’s hair, and Draco let himself sink so he was laying completely in his lap. He sighed once again, long and put out. His mind wandered a bit, thinking of all the times he and Potter had fought over the years. This time stung so much worse, cut so much deeper. It wasn’t as if Potter had never called him a Death Eater before, but he’d never done it after holding his hand and cuddling him to sleep at night. 

His thoughts turned to the first time he had admitted to himself that he found Potter attractive. Even that was during a fight. One of their milder ones, but a fight nonetheless. 

_ A letter from mother confirmed the rumors that had been flying through the castle, that Voldemort had been thwarted yet again. This time with the help of the notorious Order of Phoenix, Harry Potter and his pride of Lions had effectively prevented the Death Eaters from retrieving the prophecy. Lucius Malfoy’s plan was completely destroyed. There were punishments to be doled out. Draco would be returning to a home he had never known, a home of disgrace.  _

_ For the first time in his life, Draco was terrified to leave Hogwarts.  _

_ There was the looming ministry punishments, his father awaiting trial for his actions involved with the Death Eaters. There was also the looming punishments from the Dark Lord himself. Draco couldn’t help but think of what this meant for his future. His family was now disgraced, both in the eyes of the public and with Voldemort and the other Death Eaters. Maybe he and his mother would need to go into hiding. _

_ Maybe they could escape. Maybe he wouldn’t have to follow his father’s footsteps as he’d always feared he’d need to. He was sure his mother would do whatever was necessary to keep him safe, and to save his father from the fate of Azkaban.  _

_ The train ride home was quiet. The other Slytherins steered clear of him, all having heard of his family’s Death Eater associations. Even Greg and Vince avoided him, because they knew the Malfoy’s were not held in high regard by their parents anymore. He sat all alone in a compartment, running through worst case scenarios about what waited for him at home. _

_ For the first time in his life, Draco felt like there was no where he belonged, and no where he could turn to.  _

_ He only left his compartment once, heading towards the back of the train to use the toilet, when he ran into none other than the Saviour himself. _

_ “Potter,” He greeted shortly, chin raised slightly and hoping his eyes weren’t red from the small crying fit he had had in the compartment. There was simply nowhere for them to go, the small corridor in the train carriage offering a guaranteed confrontation. Potter looked surprised Malfoy had even opened his mouth, looking at him oddly.  _

_ “Malfoy,” He responded, just as shortly. His face was hard to read. Draco looked him up and down, waiting for the remark about his father. Waiting for something about the fight. Maybe a hex, or jinx, or curse. Revenge for his friends. Draco knew Potter wanted to do it.  _

_ “Well?” Draco asked, quickly growing angry. Potter should hex him. Draco would definitely hex Potter if his father had pulled what Draco’s did. Potter’s eyes snapped back to Draco’s, apparently he had been distracted by something on his chin.  _

_ Maybe his cheeks were still red from the tears. He quickly scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to make it seem like he was exasperated and not embarrassed. “Well, Potter? I find it hard to believe you’re just going to let me go after what happened in the ministry.”  _

_ “Are you just looking for a fight?” Potter asked, taking a step back, “I’ve had enough of that this year, if I’m honest.” _

_ Draco huffed and looked down at the ground. Potter with his stupid eyes with his stupid glasses and his stupid scar was making this far too difficult.  _

_ “I know you want to, Potter,” he said quietly, taking a step towards him. “I know it’s buried deep down in there, you want to let it out, don’t you? You want to hurt me. You want revenge. There’s no way you don’t. Look, I won’t even defend myself.” He threw his wand on the floor. Potter took another step back, Draco followed.  _

_ “You must want to hurt me.” They matched each other pace for pace down the corridor. Potter didn’t even look scared. Draco wanted him to get angry. He knew what he was doing was irrational, but he also wanted Potter to react. “You must want to hurt my father, and I’m the closest thing you’ve got. Don’t you want to see me suffer?” He was absolutely angry, Potter must be angry about the things his father had done. Potter must want to cause him pain.  _

_ Somewhere in his stupid noble heart he must want to cause pain to those responsible, “Just like your friends did? Maybe even take it a step further and just kill me. One life for another, is that a fair trade? Bellatrix is my aunt you know-” _

_ “SHUT UP MALFOY!” Potter erupted, pushing him back. Draco stumbled and fell to the floor in the corridor. “JUST SHUT! UP!” Potter shook his head and held his scar, staring down at Draco. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not going to give in to whatever stupid plan you’ve got to get me in trouble. Can’t you just leave me alone? Ever? Why is it always  _ you _?” Potter was now standing fully above him, Draco resting his weight on his hands.  _

_ Potter was angry, livid, and was surely going to hex him now. Draco had gotten the reaction he wanted, yet somehow he felt worse than he had beforehand. Potter inhaled deeply, seeming to try and calm himself, and Draco was overcome with a thought so dirty, so horrible, he would’ve punched someone who even insinuated it had crossed his mind.  _

When did Potter get so hot?

_ He shook his head and scrambled to his feet, trying to shake out the feeling of attraction that was completely unwanted and unwarranted. Potter was still standing there, staring at him, assessing him. Waiting for him.  _

_ “I-I don’t know. Why is it always you?” Draco asked in return, trying to turn the attention off of himself. He felt as if Potter could see into his mind and see what he had been thinking. _

_ “Malfoy. I am the Chosen One,” Potter explained, somewhat slowly, as if Draco had forgotten.  _

_ “Well. Yes. But, what have I got to do with that?” Draco asked, smoothing a hand down his robes and feeling for his wand.  _

_ “Malfoy, you started this. You asked me to hurt you!” Potter seemed exasperated now, running a hand down his face and stepping back again. “You know, I don’t have time for this. Good luck this summer,” He nodded his head shortly and turned away.  _

_ Draco watched him walk away, finally lifting his eyes off the floor again. He stared at the long length of his body and the way his trousers pulled tight on his arse. Draco had known for a long while he found men attractive, but Potter? He would have to ask Mother to get his mind checked by a Healer.  _

_ As he sat back down in his compartment, he realised he hadn’t thought about how horrible his fate would be at home since he first saw Potter in the corridor.  _

Draco knew thinking about the memory wouldn’t serve him. It was just another fight he and Potter had in both of their darkest moments. When they were both downtrodden and broken. But there was something about the way he remembered Potter from then, the way he looked at Draco before he finally blew up at him. 

But it was just another notch in their history that made Draco question their present. How could Potter possibly care about him when he had been involved in such horrible things? When his direct family members had killed people Potter loved? When his past was the way that it was?

It seemed it was yet another cruel joke the universe had played on him. Giving him a soulmate that would never love him. 

Draco sighed deeply and Blaise chuckled. “What’s so funny?” 

“What’re you thinking about now?”

“How Potter will never love me.” Draco admitted quietly. He stared at the fire in the hearth and let it fall from his lips. 

“You’re so dramatic. He’s your soulmate, of course he’ll love you.” 

“That’s not a good enough reason for him to love me.” 

“Draco,” Blaise sighed. “You can’t live the rest of your life not believing anyone can love you.”

Leave it to Blaise to cut right to the core of the issue. Draco exhaled slowly and shut his eyes, trying to hold back the tears that had sprung there. Blaise’s hand stroking through his hair was the only thing grounding him. 

“What are you doing awake anyway?” Draco finally asked, his throat catching slightly. 

Blaise chuckled at his diversion from the topic. “I figured you’d need someone to check on you.”

“How’d you know I’d be down here?” 

“Just a wild guess.” Blaise said sarcastically, before actually answering. “I figured I’d find you here or in the library.” 

Draco smiled and opened his eyes once more to look up at Blaise. “Thank you.” 

“Maybe you should write to your mother about all of this. Mum’s always give the best advice.” Blaise said. Draco hummed at the suggestion. 

Maybe he should write to Narcissa. They spoke at least once a week, but mostly about menial things. Draco kept her updated on his schooling and she spoke about the hobbies she had taken up during her house arrest. 

Maybe it was time he turned to her in his problems with Potter. 

~~~~

Draco penned a note the next day, telling Narcissa all of the recent issues he had with Potter and the attacks that had been. He sent it along with one of Hogwarts’ barn owls. 

He spent another night on the common room couch, only going into his room when he knew Potter wasn’t there to bathe and change his clothes. He managed to completely avoid Potter for the whole day, which he was happy about. 

The day after that, at breakfast, a letter from his mother dropped onto his plate. 

“So you took my advice.” Blaise said. Pansy raised her eyebrows. 

“What advice? What’d I miss?” Pansy asked.    


“I just told him to write to his mother. You know, about Potter.” Blaise explained. 

“Yes, yes, I took your advice.” He pocketed the letter to read later when he was alone. He didn’t need Blaise and Pansy’s noses in it while he was reading. 

“Well that’s sweet.” Pansy said, “Have you spoken to him about it?” 

“What do you think?” Draco rolled his eyes. 

“I was just asking. You do live together.” She said. 

“I know, I know. But I’m not going to discuss things with him until I get an apology.” 

“Technically you already got one.” Pansy noted, raising her eyebrow and taking a bite of her eggs. 

Draco regretted telling them both all the details of the fight. He didn’t want to make up with Potter yet, was the thing. He needed to be mad at him. He needed to feel this way towards him because the other option was admitting he was wrong and that wasn’t the case. He knew he was right, and Potter proved it, and he would continue to be mad at him until he was proven otherwise. Which wouldn’t be an easy task. 

“ _ Technically _ that one doesn’t count. It was a pity apology, not a genuine one.” 

“Draco.” Pansy said with an eye roll.

“What?”

“You’re just looking for an excuse to still be mad at him.”

“And I have every right to do so.” 

Pansy and Blaise both groaned at him. 

“Hopefully that letter from your mother will show you otherwise.” Blaise said. 

“Anyway, did you guys hear about Padma Patil? Apparently she finally had her soulmate dream and has no idea who the guy is! They’ve never met!” Pansy said in a hushed tone. Draco tuned out her useless gossip and put his hand in his pocket to press his fingertips against the letter. Maybe it would convince him otherwise, maybe it wouldn’t, he was just hoping it added some comfort to the situation. 

The day went on as normal, until Draco remembered that they had Potions today, which meant he couldn’t avoid talking to Potter. 

He arrived in potions after lunch with a scowl on his face. 

Potter immediately met his eyes, stood up, and opened his mouth to say something. Draco glared hard enough that Potter shut his mouth and sat back down. Draco took his seat next to Potter and dropped his bag on the floor. He stared straight ahead, and was resolute to not speak to Potter for the entirety of the lesson. 

“Malfoy-” Potter started quietly. Draco turned his glare back on him.    


“No. I am still mad at you and we will not be talking throughout this lesson.” Draco said, still glaring. Potter sighed heavily and bit down on his bottom lip. 

“Okay.” 

The lesson went on without another hitch. Potter seemed upset the whole time, but Draco wasn’t that surprised by that. He hated being told to shut up and be quiet. Draco made the potion while Potter cut up the ingredients, and Slughorn luckily didn’t comment on how their usually bustling station was suddenly silent. 

At the end of the lesson, as Draco was putting away his books, Potter grabbed his arm to get his attention. Draco immediately ripped his arm away and turned to glare at Potter once again. 

“What did I say. No talking.” Draco said. 

“I-” Potter started, then sighed. “Sorry.” He packed up his stuff and walked out without another word. 

This irrationally made Draco even more angry. Potter wasn’t even going to fight for him? He knew there was no reason to be mad considering Potter had done exactly what he asked, but there was something about the resignation that Potter showed that pissed Draco off. Even a little bit of a fight would be welcome. 

Draco sighed to himself and finished packing up his things. Then he looked around and found the potions room empty. He leaned back in his chair and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Fighting with Potter was exhausting. 

His hands found the letter in his pocket and he pulled it out. He had been waiting until he had a moment alone to open it, and now seemed as good a time as any. 

_ Dearest Draco,  _

_ I’m so sorry to hear you’re having troubles at school. I know I warned you about this, but I won’t take this moment to say I told you so. That will come later. However, I think you should talk to someone about these repeated attacks. You are as much a student at that school as anyone else, and your past doesn’t change that you deserve protection.  _

_ Speaking of your past not changing things.... you and Harry. Draco, he’s your soulmate. He cares about you. Whether you like to admit it or not, something happened while you two were still here at Grimmauld that changed your relationship. Just because you are back at school doesn’t make things go back to how they were.  _

_ The fact that he called you a Death Eater is not okay, but it sounds like it was just in the heat of the moment. Consider that he didn’t mean it as anything other than something to hurt you. I’ve called your father some horrible things in the heat of our fights, but I always loved him. I even love him today, despite the horrible things he’s done. I’ll always love him.  _

_ We share dreams sometimes, your father and I, and we talk about things. Have you and Harry shared a dream yet? It’s very intimate. Most of mine and your father’s dreams take place at the manor, nowadays, but they could take place anywhere. We often spend our time together fighting. Mostly your father asks about how you are. I always tell him everything I know. He’s a miserable man, and I hate that I let him ruin our family the way he did, but he’s my soulmate. There will always be love between us.  _

_ You have to know that your relationship with Harry will develop, it will change, it will grow. Just as the two of you grow.  _

_ I hope this letter helps you understand a little bit more of how real relationships work. You can’t go your whole life thinking your past defines you. It doesn’t. You are good at heart. I know this, and I think Harry does too.  _

_ Love always,  _ _   
_ _ Mother _

Draco read and reread the letter a few times. Tears sprung to his eyes for what felt like the millionth time since his fight with Potter. He blinked them away and reread the letter again. 

_ You are good at heart. _

Sometimes he really needed a reminder. 

~~~~

That night, Draco went to their bedroom for the first time in two days. Potter was sitting on the bed with Granger and Weasley, and the room fell silent as soon as Draco entered. He assumed they had been talking about him. Weasley didn’t appear to be very pleased. 

Draco raised his chin and looked only at Potter, whose mouth was held slightly agape. “I’m still mad at you, but I cannot sleep on that rancid couch another night. I’ll be sleeping here. Do with that what you will.” He announced, and then left the room immediately. 

He felt good in his announcement. 

Later that night, he left Blaise and Pansy in the common room to go to bed. When he entered the room, he found Potter asleep on a poorly transfigured bed in the corner of the room. It looked immensely uncomfortable. Draco appreciated the effort he had made in order to allow him to be more comfortable. So he took pity on Potter and cast a few better transfiguration spells on the bed, to make it slightly more comfortable. As comfortable as he could make it. 

He climbed into bed and shut the lights with a sigh, casting one last look at Potter before drifting into sleep. 

~~~~

He woke up in a forest. He didn’t recognize it at first, his vision blurry and skewed. He blinked a few times and everything came into focus, and he realized it was the forest in Grimmauld’s attic. The one where he and Potter had kissed. He looked around and realized he was sitting on the exact spot where the incident had happened. He was unsurprised to find Potter waking up a few feet away from him. 

So they were sharing dreams now. 

When Potter finally noticed him, Draco crossed his arms and turned away. Just because they were dreaming didn’t mean he wasn’t mad. Their bond just clearly was unhappy with them for their recent behaviour. 

He heard Potter sigh. “So you’re mad at me even in my dreams now?”

Draco remained silent. 

Potter walked around him to try and catch his eye, but Draco turned to keep his back to him. “Seriously? I don’t get a reprieve from this even here?” Potter sighed again, and Draco heard him sit down on the forest floor. “I figured because of the location this would be another dream about...well you know. You’re just a figment of my subconscious.” 

Huh. The way Potter was talking was like he didn’t realise they were sharing a dream. Draco wasn’t just a ‘figment’ he was real, as real as can be. And what dreams had Potter been having that took place in this forest? 

Maybe Draco could talk to him. He would just think it was his subconscious, after all, and he wouldn’t treat Draco any differently for it in the real world. He wouldn’t know Draco had bent his rules, because he thought this Draco was fake. 

“I know I fucked up. I know I deserve the silent treatment. But it’s harder to bear than I thought.” Potter whispered. Draco looked over to Potter to see him looking down at the ground and picking at the grass there, playing with it in between his fingers. Draco looked down at the ground as well, sighing as he knew he shouldn’t do what he was about to do. 

“And why’s that?” Draco asked. Potter immediately looked up at him, obviously shocked to hear his voice. 

“Oh so you do talk?” He smirked. “That’s nice of you.” 

“Only trying to understand your incoherent ramblings.” Draco answered, rolling his eyes. Potter let out a snort of laughter and smiled. Draco bit down on his bottom lip. It seemed like it had been forever since he heard that sound, even though it had only been a few days. 

“That’s why it’s hard. I actually miss you, you git.” Potter explained with a heavy sigh. 

“You miss me?” Draco asked, scoffing. 

“Yea. I miss your sense of humor and the way you make me laugh.” Potter said. He stood up again and Draco matched him. Then Potter started moving closer. “I miss your stubbornness, and the way we argue about stupid things.” He took another step closer. “I miss the way you try to hide your smile when you know I’m looking at you.” Yet another step closer. Draco could feel his heart rate picking up. “I miss cuddling with you in bed at night. I miss everything, Draco.” 

Draco nearly stumbled backwards at the use of his first name. He only caught himself at the last second, and he grabbed onto Potter’s arm to right himself. “Draco?” He asked. 

Potter only laughed. “You know I can only call you that in my dreams. Malfoy would think it's too weird. Plus it helps me keep things... separate.” Potter explained. Draco was shocked, his mouth went slack and he increased his grip on Potter’s arm. 

“You call me Draco in your dreams?” 

“Why are you acting like this is news?” Potter asked, clearly confused. He gave Draco a strange look, as if he was the one acting oddly. Draco realized that the Draco in Potter’s dreams must be used to being called by his first name, and didn’t react this way. 

“Sorry, I guess I just forgot.” He tried to explain, looking at the ground. 

“You’re doing it again.” Potter said, and used his fingers to guide Draco’s head back up to look at him. “Stop hiding your smile around me.”

“I wasn’t-” He’s cut off with a kiss, a slow, sensual one that ran tingles down his body to his toes. Potter moved his hand from his chin to his jaw, letting his fingers rub gently against the side of Draco’s neck. Draco let the kiss continue for a moment longer than he should have, before he pushed Potter away and rubbed at his mouth with the back of your hand. 

“I’m still mad at you.” He said, trying to catch his breath. Potter only laughed. 

“That’s what you said the first time too.” Potter chuckled and went in to kiss him again. Draco dodged him and the kiss landed on his cheek.    


“I mean it this time.” 

Potter sighed and let go of Draco’s neck and arm. “I guess even my dreams know I don’t deserve anything from you right now.” 

“Apparently.” Draco said. 

Draco sat down in the grass again and Potter sat down next to him. Reluctantly, Draco let his head fall to rest on Potter’s shoulder. “I miss you too, you know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will most likely be a chapter next week as well, but after that I have some catching up to do. I'm not sure if I'm going to post the chapters as they're finished, or if I'm going to put the story on a hiatus while I write some more (or maybe even until it's finished). I'll let you know next week what I'm deciding on. Thanks so much for reading and for your continued support!


	8. Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I'm back! Now, the chapter after this one still isn't done, so we aren't going back to our original posting schedule, but I thought it'd been long enough and I wanted to give y'all a bit of a gift. Hope you enjoy!

Harry woke up with a sore back and a crick in his neck. He sat up and stretched, looking over to see Malfoy peacefully asleep in bed. It reminded Harry quickly of the dream he had the night before. 

It was such a strange dream, typically ones Harry had starring the quidditch pitch ended with him waking up hard and trying to hide it from Malfoy. Dreams that starred who he called Draco were usually more happy overall. 

It seemed he had fucked up badly enough that he didn’t even get a reprieve from Malfoy in his dreams. 

God he knew he fucked up. He knew he never should have called Malfoy a Death Eater. But in the heat of the moment, being told that he didn’t actually  _ care _ about Malfoy, all he could think of was hurting him. It was stupid logic, but he hated, more than anything, being accused of not caring for the people he cared for the most. 

Everything about Malfoy was frustrating, but this was a whole new level. 

He swung his legs over the sides of the bed and quietly made his way to the bathroom to start his day. He stared himself in the mirror as he brushed his teeth, trying to think of how he could make things up to Malfoy. If he even wanted to. What use would it be if Malfoy still didn’t believe that he cared about him? How could he prove that to him? All he had done before hadn’t worked, showing affection when they were in private. And...well. Maybe he hadn’t done all that much. He knew he had to do more than that to prove it to him. 

Merlin, if this situation wasn’t doing his head in. 

He spit out his toothpaste and made eye contact with himself once again. Without his glasses, everything was a bit blurry. He wondered about if there were charms to fix eyesight, and if there weren’t why someone hadn’t invented them yet. Malfoy would know. 

He sighed and looked down at the sink, gripping the sides of it. He just wanted things to go back to normal. He wanted to go back to holding Malfoy’s hand, and cuddling at night. He didn’t understand why Malfoy thought he was being disingenuous. He had no reason to do any of that except for if he wanted to. 

Letting out one last exhale he turned and went back into the room. He ran a hand through his hair as he left the bathroom, only to find Malfoy standing in front of the door with his arms crossed.

“Good morning.” Harry greeted, trying for normal. 

“For the record I’m still-” 

“You’re still mad at me. Yes, I know.” Harry interrupted with a sigh. 

Malfoy clenched his teeth and his jaw twitched. “I just thought it prudent to tell you that last night was a shared dream. You might do well to tell the difference in the future.” 

Harry’s eyebrows shot up. “Shared?”

“We were both there. Having the same dream. It’s known to happen when soulmates are separated. I’m surprised you don’t know this.” Malfoy’s face was unmoving as he spoke, he seemed done with the conversation already. 

“I, well. I don’t know any soulmates who’ve been separated for a long time.” 

“Fair enough. I just thought you should know. We can now return to not speaking.” Malfoy swept past him quickly, going into the bathroom, leaving Harry standing there reeling from this new information. 

A shared dream. That explained why Malfoy had reacted so much when he called him by his first name. Merlin, all the embarrassing things he said. His rambling about missing Malfoy, to the real Malfoy!

The kiss. 

Although, Malfoy had kissed back. Not for long, but he did. Harry hadn’t made that up. The kiss went on too long for it to be one sided. And Malfoy had said he missed him too! 

Maybe it wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. 

He got dressed while Malfoy was still in the bathroom and made his way down to breakfast. He found Hermione and Ron already sitting in their usual spots, waiting for him. He slid in across from them and started filling his plate with food.

“You won’t believe what happened last night.” He started, then took a bite of his eggs. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. 

“We were there when Malfoy announced he was sleeping in your room again, you remember?” Hermione said slowly. He rolled his eyes. 

“Yes, I remember, it was after you guys left.” He, Ron, and Hermione had a long conversation the night before about what to do about Malfoy. There were no major conclusions. Mostly it had been Hermione berating him for calling Malfoy a Death Eater, and Ron saying Harry was right to question him. Both sides of the argument gave him little to work on. 

“Then what was it, go on mate.” Ron urged. 

“Malfoy and I shared a dream.” Both of their eyebrows went towards their hairlines, and Hermione’s mouth fell open. 

“Harry, that’s crazy. That usually only happens when a bond is very strong or the soulmates are very far away from each other.” Hermione explained. “How do you know?” 

“He told me this morning.” 

“Maybe he was fucking with you.” Ron offered. 

“I don’t think he was.” Harry went on to tell them the content of the dream. 

“So you’re sure this was actually Malfoy because what? He’s mad at you?” Ron scoffed. “Maybe your subconscious just knows he’s mad.”

“That’s what I assumed too! But then he told me we shared it this morning, and I can’t think of a reason he’d have to lie.” 

“To fuck with you!”

Hermione shook her head. “Ron, how would Malfoy know about the dream if he hadn’t been there?” Ron went to argue back but ultimately found nothing to say and closed his mouth again.

“But what am I supposed to do? I need to make it up to him but I have no idea how.” 

“Beats me.” Ron said, taking a bite of his pancakes. 

“Maybe you just need to ease into it. Start with a sincere apology.” Hermione suggested. 

“I want an apology from him, too. For saying I don’t care about him when I clearly do.” 

Hermione sighed while Ron nodded his head and shook his fork in agreement. 

“Harry I don’t think you’re going to get one. Not for a while at least. He clearly needs time to trust you.” Hermione explained. Harry sighed into his meal. 

“I suppose you’re right. But it still hurts.”

“I know it does. And I know you do care about him. But you’ve got to be the bigger person here.” 

Harry bit down on his bottom lip and nodded. “Okay. I think I need a few days but... I’ll start with an apology when I’m ready.” 

“That’s all you can do.” Hermione said. 

“You could ignore him forever.” Ron suggested with a raise of his eyebrow. This earned him and eye roll from Harry and a smack on the arm from Hermione. 

“Ron, they’re  _ soulmates _ . Imagine if I just ignored you for the rest of time?” Hermione chastised. Ron shuddered at the thought and frowned. 

“I guess. I just feel bad that it’s Malfoy.” 

“I quite like him, you know. I know things are...rough right now, but he’s really quite funny. And he’s smart as hell, too.” Harry defended. He really did like Malfoy, but right now he needed time to figure out how to express it.

~~~~

Needing a few days turned into needing a few weeks. 

The days passed slowly. Between Hermione’s glares, Malfoy’s silence, and Ron’s weird supportiveness, Harry felt like he was getting whiplash everywhere he turned. He just needed  _ time _ . He was still sleeping on that uncomfortable transfigured bed, but he knew it was worth it. 

He needed time to work out how he truly felt. Because as much as it hurt him to hear Malfoy accuse him of not caring, it had to come from somewhere. And he needed to be sure of himself before he tried anything with Malfoy again. 

He had been so sure of himself before all this bullshit with Malfoy. Part of him was more mad at Malfoy for making him doubt himself than anything else. But he had to know the truth of his feelings. Did he only like Malfoy because of an obligation? Did his desire to help him come from his desire to help everyone? Did he care about Malfoy specifically? 

He had to answer these questions before he could even make an attempt with Malfoy again. It was killing him, he missed Malfoy so much. And that was his first clue that what he was feeling was genuine. He knew he hadn’t missed someone this much since he thought Hermione and Ron had abandoned him after first year. 

And Malfoy was right there. It wasn’t like he had genuine reason to miss him. Despite the fact that they didn’t talk, he still woke up and went to bed in the same room as him. They just weren’t talking. But he missed talking to him. He missed seeing Malfoy laugh and smile. He missed holding him in his arms to go to sleep. He missed teaching him about the patronus charm, watching him light up when he succeeded. He even missed his condescending teaching style when they had their private potions lessons. 

He just missed Malfoy. 

And Merlin, he couldn’t wait until they could talk again. But he knew it would be a hard start. Malfoy needed to truly trust him, and Harry had no idea where to start with that. He didn’t know how to prove all of this to Malfoy. 

He could barely prove it to himself. 

Was just missing him enough? Was this yearning in his chest enough? Or was that just their bond? 

What if it was just their bond? Was that enough for Harry? If Malfoy only ever cared about him because of their bond? How would he feel in that situation? 

He ran his hands through his hair and gripped tightly at it, resisting the urge to scream as not to wake Malfoy who was managing to sleep in the bed next to him. Harry wondered if he was as worked up about the situation as he was, or if Malfoy had gotten over it by now and was just holding out on principle. That is something Malfoy would do. 

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and took a few deep breaths. He needed to stop overthinking the situation. Hermione had been telling him that for days. All he wanted was not to fuck it up. He had done quite enough of that already. 

He let the deep breaths relax him and slowly drifted off to sleep. 

~~~~

He woke up back in the quidditch pitch of Grimmauld. He hadn’t had a dream of this place since the last one he shared with Malfoy, and sure enough when he looked over he saw Malfoy already standing against a tree, arms crossed. 

“Malfoy.” Harry greeted, unsure if he was allowed to speak to him in this new setting. 

“No more Draco then?” Harry flushed at Malfoy’s comment. When he called him Draco he hadn’t known that he  _ wasn’t  _ a figment of his dreams. He only ever called Malfoy ‘Draco’ in his dreams, it was the only time he would allow it. It felt like a big step, calling him Draco. And he certainly couldn’t do it in real life. 

“No, erm. That was a mistake.” Harry said, which earned him a loud scoff. 

“A mistake? You told me you always call me that in your dreams.” 

“Yes, well. At the time I thought it was a regular dream.”

“You have regular dreams about me?”

“Well I wouldn’t call them  _ regular _ .” Harry smirked. Malfoy’s glare made him drop his face and clear his throat. “Er. Yes. Sometimes. Don’t you?” 

“I don’t typically remember my dreams.” Malfoy admitted, looking down at his fingers with a pompous attitude. “I don’t know why I’m even talking to you right now.” 

“Because otherwise this would be terribly awkward?” Harry offered. He certainly thought it would be. Malfoy sighed and dropped his hands. 

“Yes I suppose it would be.” 

Silence fell when Harry couldn’t think of a response. It was, as expected, awkward. Malfoy let out an exaggerated sigh and looked up at the ceiling. Harry let out a low whistle. Malfoy observed his cuticles. Harry stared and kicked at the forest floor. 

Finally, “Why do you think we’re here? Of all places?” Malfoy asked, looking around. 

Harry scrunched his eyebrows in thought. He had thought it was pretty clear. This was where they had their first kiss, where they had connected the most. It was the space where they had shared the most joyous time together. Where else would they connect in a shared dream? “I thought it was obvious.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “There are plenty of other places important enough to both of us. Literally any room at Hogwarts.” 

“But those aren’t important for the same reasons.” Harry tried explaining. They had never discussed their shared kiss, and dancing around the topic was getting harder and harder. It didn’t help that now Harry was picturing their last dream here and the kiss they shared then. He knew Malfoy had kissed back, he just  _ knew _ it. 

Malfoy sighed at him. “What about the Room of Hidden Things?” 

It took Harry a moment to remember that he meant the Room of Requirement. They also had never discussed their shared time there. He wondered why Malfoy had brought it up now. “I mean. I guess so. But those aren’t exactly positive memories.” 

“Potter, saving my life isn’t a positive memory?” Malfoy accused. Harry rolled his eyes. 

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat, but I’d rather not have to.” He admitted, looking Malfoy in the eye as if to challenge him to argue. Malfoy looked away and swallowed. 

“What about Myrtle’s bathroom?” Malfoy said. Suddenly they were no longer talking about locations for this dream to take place. Harry stared down at his feet as he remembered that day in the bathroom. The curse flung with no knowledge, the biggest mistake of his life. The blood pouring out of Malfoy, the way he twitched on the floor. He remembered the scars he had seen scattered on Malfoy’s chest, the ones that he himself had left there. 

“I’m so sorry.” Was all he could come up with. He couldn’t even bear to look at Malfoy, trying desperately to fight back tears that had sprung to his eyes. He hated thinking about that day. He hated remembering that moment. “I-I had no idea what the curse would do.”

“Why would you use it then?” Malfoy said. His voice was softer, apparently seeing how worked up the subject made Harry. He risked a glance up at Malfoy, and saw his face had softened like his voice. He seemed genuinely curious, rather than accusatory. 

Harry gulped as he went on to explain. “You were going to  _ crucio  _ me. I didn’t see another way out, I cast the first thing that came to mind. The spell was labelled ‘for enemies’ in my potions book. I learned later that year it was Snape who invented it.” 

“Snape invented it?” Malfoy asked, shocked. Harry ran a hand through his hair, letting his fingers catch on the knots. 

“Yea. That’s not important though, really. What’s important is that I’m sorry. Truly. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Malfoy was silent. Harry sighed and bit down on his bottom lip. He tried to catch Malfoy’s gaze but it was focused somewhere far out in the forest. 

“For the record, I’m sorry too. For trying to use the cruciatus on you.” 

“Who knows if it would have even worked.” Harry chuckled. Malfoy rolled his eyes and glared at him. 

“You don’t think I meant it?”

“I could barely even cast one on Bellatrix.”

“I have cast the Cruciatus successfully, though.” Malfoy said with a gulp. 

“Under extreme duress.” Harry countered. 

Malfoy sighed slightly. “I guess that’s true.”

“I know it's true. I saw-I saw things. Through Voldemort’s eyes.” Harry admitted. He gulped around the tightness in his throat. He had never shared that with anyone other than Ron and Hermione. He never spoke about the way he shared space in his head with Voldemort. He hated thinking about it. 

“Why would he show you...me?” Malfoy asked. He clearly thought it was a case of traditional legilimency, and that Voldemort had projected the visions to Harry. 

“He didn’t always choose what I saw. I just... saw it.” Harry couldn’t bring himself to explain the truth. It felt like too much to talk about. No one knew he was a horcrux except for him and Dumbledore. Not even Ron and Hermione knew the full truth. No one knew he died in the forest, no one knew how he escaped. 

He wasn’t sure he would ever tell another person about King’s Cross. 

“How? How could you see through his eyes without him knowing?” Malfoy of course was curious. Harry ran a hand through his hair and bit down on his bottom lip. 

“That’s. That’s not important.” Harry tried. 

Malfoy scoffed and let out a small chuckle. “Not important? You shared a brain with the most evil wizard of all time and you think it's not important?” 

“It’s not something I’m willing to talk about, okay?” Harry confessed. He looked Malfoy right in the eye and held his gaze. His jaw locked, he hated thinking about these things. Malfoy seemed to soften with his glare. 

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry I asked.” 

“I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” Harry nodded. He took a deep breath and tried to calm his racing mind. Now all he could think of was the feeling of Voldemort in his mind, he could feel the phantom of his scar hurting. He sat down on the forest floor and laid onto his back, looking up at the ceiling. Breathing deeply, he focused on the feeling of his back rising and falling against the ground. 

He felt Malfoy sit down next to him. He looked over to see him there, cross legged. Malfoy sighed and reached out to grab Harry’s hand. He held it in his lap for a moment while letting his thumb stroke over it. 

“I’m sorry all that shit happened to you.” Malfoy whispered. 

Harry sighed and closed his eyes. He let himself get lost in the feeling of Malfoy slowly caressing his hand. 

The next time Harry opened his eyes, he was back on his makeshift bed in their bedroom. It was still dark outside. He rubbed the fuzz out of his eyes and sat up on his elbows. 

“Potter.” Malfoy said into the dark. Harry’s head whipped around to look at him, though he couldn’t see him through the darkness. “Come over here.”  Harry got up and padded his way to his side of the bed. He looked down at Malfoy and waited for further instruction, because surely Malfoy wasn’t inviting him back to sleep in the bed with him. He was still incredibly mad at Harry, as far as he knew. 

“Get in, then.” Malfoy hissed. Harry nearly jumped in his shock at the statement. He climbed slowly into bed, careful not to touch Malfoy. He knew that this olive branch didn’t include cuddling, as much as he wished it did. “Goodnight, Potter.” 

“Goodnight.” Harry whispered. He felt Malfoy roll onto his side away from him. He laid there on his back staring at the ceiling for long minutes, until he heard Malfoy’s breath even out. 

That dream had been something else. Harry couldn’t get it out of his mind. The way Malfoy touched him, so tenderly, almost... lovingly. It was unlike any interaction they had had before. The inches between them now felt like miles. 

~~~~

The next few nights passed in a similar fashion. They slept next to each other, but still ages apart. They didn’t talk. It seemed that the only time they would speak was in their dreams, which Harry wasn’t completely upset about. It was certainly better than nothing. 

They didn’t share another dream over those few days, maybe because they were finally sleeping in the same bed. Harry didn’t really understand how the bond worked. Hermione had said it was rare to share dreams when you already knew your soulmate, and especially when you were as close, at least physically, as Malfoy and Harry were. But it had happened. Twice. Harry wondered if it was because they were fighting, and their bond wanted it to stop. He didn’t know for sure though, he couldn’t know for sure. 

He was in the bathroom getting ready to go down for breakfast. It was a Saturday, so he had let himself have a lie in and was running a bit late. As he was brushing his teeth, a sudden wave of panic flooded through him. 

At first he thought it was a panic attack. He had a few of them in the past, but they were never this sudden. His heart raced, his breathing quickened. He gripped the side of the sink and counted down from ten, trying to gain control of his breath. 

It wouldn’t go away. 

He kept counting, deep inhales and slow exhales, but nothing was working to rid him of the fear that held his body. 

Suddenly he felt a pull in his stomach, a lurching, as if a rope was tugging him somewhere. He recognized it from the time Malfoy tried to remove his Dark Mark. First he had felt the pain, and then a tugging towards Malfoy’s room. 

So this wasn’t his own fear, it was Malfoy’s. Something was terribly wrong. 

Harry dropped his toothbrush into the sink and quickly pulled on his robes. He ran out of his room and through the common room without a second glance to Ron and Hermione waiting for him, who immediately followed him at his hurried pace. 

“Harry!” Hermione called. “What’s going on?” 

“No time!” Harry called back. He followed the tug in his gut all the way to the entrance of the Great Hall, where Zacharias Smith and a few younger students had Malfoy pinned against a wall. He had his arms up in defense, clearly without a wand. 

“You don’t deserve to be here, Death Eater Scum.” Smith hissed as Harry approached. Harry watched for a moment, frozen in fear. Now it wasn’t just Malfoy’s panic filling his body, but his own as well. 

“You don’t have to do this, Smith.” Malfoy tried to argue. His eyes scanned the crowd as Harry watched. 

“That’s where you’re wrong. You deserve everything that’s coming to you.” Smith sneered. He raised his wand and Harry finally lept into action. 

“ _ Protego!” _ He cast as he jumped in front of Malfoy. The large shield knocked all of the attackers back onto the floor. Malfoy slowly lowered his hands and Harry quickly turned around to face him.  “Are you okay?” He asked. He could feel the fear leaking out of his body as Malfoy calmed down. His heart rate slowed and his breathing evened out. Malfoy stared at him angrily as he bent down and picked up his wand where Smith had dropped it when he was blown back. 

“I’m fine.” He muttered, smoothing out his robes. Harry grabbed his shoulders and looked all over his face. 

“Did they do anything to you before I got here?” 

“Just a stupid stinging hex. I’m  _ fine.  _ Leave me alone, Potter.” Malfoy said. Everyone on the ground was staring at them now and Harry came back to himself. He knew others would be suspicious if he showed too much about how he cared for Malfoy. He caught eyes with Ron and Hermione who were staring at him in worry. He quickly cleared his throat and stepped away from Malfoy. 

Malfoy was still glaring at him. Smith and his cronies were staring at him as if he had two heads. He turned to them, still on the floor in shock, and pointed his wand at them. 

“No one deserves to be attacked.” He warned. 

“He’s a Death Eater!” Someone shouted. 

“He  _ was _ a Death Eater. And he’s here because the courts have let him because of  _ my _ testimony. If anyone has any questions about it they can go through me.” Harry said defiantly, looking at them each in the eye. He could feel Malfoy’s glare on the back of his head; he was sure he was unhappy with Harry for coming to his rescue. 

They all slowly got to their feet and started walking away. Malfoy brushed past Harry with a shove. 

“Malfoy-” He whipped around at the sound of his name. 

“I didn’t need you to rescue me.” He hissed. 

“I know how scared you were. I felt it.” Harry whispered, looking him directly in the eye. They rolled in annoyance and he glared again. 

“I. Don’t. Need. You.” 

“Just because you don’t need me doesn’t mean I can’t help.” Harry protested. Malfoy scoffed. 

“Just leave me alone.” He shook his head and walked into the Great Hall with grandeur. 

Hermione and Ron came up on either side of him while he watched Malfoy go. “You alright, mate?” Ron asked. 

“I don’t know.” Harry answered honestly. They both wrapped arms around his shoulders. 

“He’ll come around,” Hermione offered. Harry sighed and nodded, even though he wasn’t so sure. 

~~~~

His eyes opened onto a garden he barely recognized. The sprawling manor had never felt bigger than when Harry looked at it in that moment. He was in Malfoy’s head again, and he knew that it had always felt welcoming, had given him a sense of home and a happy feeling. Now all that he felt was fear and dread. He could feel his stomach in his throat. He turned towards Narcissa, who was looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face. It almost seemed like fear, but Harry couldn’t think of a single reason for her to be afraid of going into her own home. As much as Harry was scared of the unknown that lay ahead, she must know what was going to happen. Why would she be afraid? Narcissa had never once shown fear in front of him. 

“I am going to tell you this because you need to know. But you must act surprised. You must act happy. You must employ your training in occlumency and act happy. This news is the best thing that has happened to this family, do you understand me?” She began speaking, low and without looking at him. His eyes widened and he looked directly at her. He waited for her to continue, but she didn’t. She slid her eyes towards him subtly before looking ahead again. “Do you understand me?”

Malfoy nodded quickly while his mind raced through the possible outcomes of this command. The things his mother would be scared of that he must pretend to enjoy. Only one thought comes to his head, but he quickly shuts that down. They are disgraced, his father on house arrest awaiting trial. Absolutely nothing could be worse. 

“The Dark Lord has taken residence here. It is the new headquarters for him and his followers. We are blessed and so very excited to welcome him into our home. This is what we must do to repay him after your father’s grave mistakes last week. We are incredibly happy for this opportunity,” Narcissa slid her eye towards him once more at the end of this speech. Malfoy’s stomach fell from his throat to his feet in one moment.

Of all the punishments he thought possible, the constant presence of the Dark Lord in his home was one he never considered. Harry could feel the way his brain tried to process the information. He had no idea what this meant for him. His father had always wanted him to join the Death Eaters, and he had assumed he would after the Dark Lord took power. He would never have to do the things his father did now, just sit quietly and let them happen. While that may not be better, he could handle that. He thought he could handle sitting quietly by. 

It wasn’t like he could stand up to his father, he would rather die. In fact, he probably would die if he told his father his thoughts on his upbringing. He did think wizards are better than muggles.  _ They have magic, don’t they? However, did that mean that all muggles should die? And mudbloods, they had magic. _

Malfoy didn’t understand why having muggle parents meant a witch or wizard was worse. His father had preached about nothing else since he was a child, but it had been a long time since he had actually agreed with him. After going to school and seeing how powerful some muggle-born students were, he knew his father was spouting pure bullshit. 

Harry was shocked by this line of thought from Malfoy. He knew he was trying to change more recently, but he didn’t think he had disagreed with his father when he was in the Death Eaters. He thought Malfoy bought into their ideology for most of their childhood. But apparently he was wrong. 

The small seed of hope Malfoy had was crushed. His father’s fall from grace could’ve been their chance. It could’ve been the time for them to run away, to get away from every horrible thing his father had brought into their lives. He could have escaped, gone to somewhere in the south of France and never thought of Lord Voldemort again. But now,  _ now _ , the poison itself had taken over his home. 

His mother began walking up the drive and Malfoy followed quickly in step.

The walk up to the front entrance of the Manor had never felt longer than it did, and a million thoughts were racing through Malfoy’s mind. He took his mother’s words to heart though, and them shut down quickly. It was a Black family tradition to be trained in occlumency and legilimency at a young age, and Harry could feel as Malfoy built up walls around his mind. He shut down his mind slowly and surely, leaving only a few mundane thoughts about Hogwarts to remain. Voldemort was too skilled not to notice a completely empty mind, Harry thought. Malfoy was good at this. 

High ornate doors swung open as they approached, and standing in the entrance to the grand house was Voldemort himself. Draco gulped and kept an upturned chin. His aunt stood at Voldemort’s right side, smiling wickedly at him. She ran down to greet him before they could make it inside. 

“Draco! Cissy! I am so delighted you’re finally here to help us.” Bellatrix began, smiling and pulling them both into a tight hug before cackling in the way only she could. She turned to face Malfoy and continued, “We have such a special job for you-”

“Quite enough, Bella, don’t you think?” He spoke, in a somehow charming voice despite his horrendous appearance. 

“Yes, my lord, of course. You will reveal the plans when the time is right.” Bellatrix backed up slowly whilst smirking. 

Voldemort walked down to greet them both and Malfoy stood stock still while looking at him, refusing to meet his eye. Malfoy was unsure where to look, unsure how to behave when faced with him. 

His mother next to him lowered her head, eyes on the floor. He chose to follow suit, but then a long, slender wand hit his chin. Voldemort pulled his head up to meet his eyes, his boney fingers over-pronounced at the end of his wand. Malfoy met his beady red eyes and prayed his occlumency lessons would pay off. 

“How lovely of you to join us, Draco. You simply have no idea how we’ve been waiting for you.” The words seemed to slide out of his mouth and off his tongue in a hiss. 

“It is an honor to have you here, sir,” Malfoy answered, the wand tip still at his throat. He dared not a glance at his mother next to him, and simply hoped his good behaviour would be enough to keep her safe. 

“I know that it is an honor, Draco. An honor I bestow upon very few, so I’m glad you are thankful for it. Your mother has raised you well it seems. Your father must not have had much influence in your upbringing.” Rage filled Malfoy and he clenched his fits, knowing Voldemort was aware and wanted that reaction from him. Harry felt him hold in every nasty word he had for the man in front of him. He closed his mind farther. Voldemort stared into his eyes, still holding his wand to his throat. Slowly, he lowered his arm, not breaking eye-contact with Malfoy. “Very well, let’s go inside, shall we? You must have things to unpack. You must be dying to get home.”

Voldemort turned dramatically and seemed to glide back up the steps and into the manor, Bellatrix following closely behind. His mother nodded at him briefly and followed herself. Feeling as though he had just passed the most important test in his life, he let out a deep breath and walked into the house that no longer felt anything like his home. 

Inside the house was nothing like Harry remembered the manor to be. It was dark, lined with cobwebs and candles. Malfoy cast a quick  _ lumos _ to see in the dark. When he turned to ask Narcissa about the new decorations, she was gone. He noticed quickly that he was all alone in the house. He slowed his steps to a tip toe, unsure what was waiting for him at the end of the dark entryway. 

Harry’s heart rate picked up quickly, thumping so hard he could feel it in his neck. What had clearly been a bad memory had just turned into a true nightmare. 

“Draco....Draco....” A voice hissed from the end of the hallway. Malfoy turned around only to be faced with the same hallway. He tried turning around a few times, but every direction he looked was the same dark hallway. He had nowhere to go but forward. He took a few steps forward and the voice sounded again. “Yessss, come to me, Draco.” 

It was a hissing, horrible, voice. Harry wanted to do anything but go towards it. But Malfoy stepped forward, slowly walking towards the voice at the end of the hallway. The hallway got narrower and narrower until it was the exact length of the doorway at the end of it, and the voice was the closest it had been. 

“Draco... Draco...” Malfoy reached for the door handle with a shaky hand. He twisted it and pushed the door in slowly, opening on to a large dining room. At the long table sat all the Death Eaters, and suspended above the table was Charity Burbage. Harry recognized her from the halls of Hogwarts, and knew her fate had been a terrible one. Seeing her suspended above the table, face frozen in an unheard scream, made Harry immediately want to be sick. 

Malfoy wanted to run, too. He could feel the urge coursing through his veins, but he felt frozen to the spot. He knew this room, this image, and he knew how it ended. 

“Draco, lovely for you to finally join us.” Voldemort said from the head of the table. Malfoy nodded with a blink, and Harry felt him go to turn around and leave. He turned on one foot, and again there was no door behind him, but the table again. He turned in every direction and the table was always there. 

His seat next to his mother creaked as it dragged across the floor, inviting him to sit down. 

Malfoy sat down in the chair and it immediately pushed back in, crushing his stomach against the table. He heaved over as the breath was knocked out of him, but sat up quickly to avoid the glaring looks from the other Death Eaters. 

The meeting played out in a buzz around them. Malfoy was glued to the seat he was in, unable to move even an inch away from the table. He kept stealing glances up at the suspended woman, wishing he could do something to help her. 

Suddenly a blood curdling scream left her mouth, and she was dropped onto the table directly in front of Malfoy. 

“Help me! Please help me!” She cried, and started crawling towards him with reaching hands. Harry felt the urge to run fill Malfoy’s veins, and then he tried to push away from the table. 

He pushed and pushed, his hands pressing into the tabel side but the chair wouldn;t budge. Charity Burbage was getting closer and closer, and was still screaming for help. Then Nagini bit her ankle, and she returned to just screaming. Malfoy went lightheaded, eyes fuzzy and head spinning. Harry wanted nothing but for the dream to be over. 

Then she started screaming “Potter! Potter!” 

Harry jolted awake, pushing up and taking a gasping breath. Malfoy was laying next to him, a concerned look on his face. He clearly had woken Harry up, as his hand had fallen behind Harry’s back like he had been holding his arm. Harry propped himself up on his hands and looked back at Malfoy. He was still catching his breath. 

“Nightmare?” Malfoy asked quietly. 

“Yea. Yours.” Harry admitted. Malfoy dropped onto his back on the bed. 

“Oh. What was it?” 

“You sure you want to know?” Harry asked, sitting up fully and looking down at his nails. He picked at his cuticles. 

“I asked, didn’t I?”

Harry sighed and looked back at where Malfoy was laying. He was staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded on his chest. 

“It was the day you returned to the manor, and then, uhm. And then it was Charity Burbage.” Harry said quietly. Malfoy took a deep breath and then shivered. Harry watched as he pressed his hands to his eyes. 

“That’s a nasty one.” Malfoy commented. “Did she scream?” 

“So much.” Harry trembled as he remembered the way her eyes widened while she screamed. He laid down next to Malfoy, staring up at the ceiling and letting his arms fall to his sides. 

“You woke me up, but I dreamt of the graveyard.” Malfoy admitted. 

“Oh? Which one?” Harry asked. 

Malfoy scoffed slightly. “Of course you have trauma in more than one graveyard. How silly of me.” His tone was light, and Harry chuckled. The room fell silent again and Malfoy spoke up with a sigh. “The one with Cedric.” 

Harry was immediately transported back there. He had that dream recently, he knew how horrible it could be. He sighed heavily and brought his hands above his head, running his fingers through his hair. 

“I guess it’s a good thing I woke you up then.” Harry commented. Malfoy let out a breath of a laugh, and then turned over to face Harry. 

“Maybe. Maybe you could hold me tonight. Just to make sure the dreams don’t come back.” Malfoy suggested quietly. Harry’s breath picked up and he looked over at him. He looked serious. Harry had missed the feeling of Malfoy in his arms so much, the space between them every night seeming to span oceans.

“Yeah. Maybe.” Harry responded. Malfoy let his hand drift over Harry's chest before he wrapped his arm around his waist. He moved in closer and put his other arm against Harry’s side. Harry let his arms stay above his head for a moment as Malfoy situated himself on his chest, before letting his arms fall down and wrap around him. 

He could feel Malfoy’s heartbeat against his chest and let it lull him back to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Kudos and comments always welcome and greatly appreciated :)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed! If you did and could leave a kudos/comment I'd greatly appreciate it!
> 
> ALso if you could reblog my fic post here: https://impressivelyloud.tumblr.com/post/615046567871889408/two-souls-every-step-of-his-life-had-orbited


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